


The Bustling City

by Swift_tales



Series: Days of Legend [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:36:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swift_tales/pseuds/Swift_tales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the attempted murder of the King, Arthur must find a way to make Camelot appear strong again. The answer is obviously: a tournament!</p><p>Slow Merlin/Arthur build, Gwaine/Suprise!Character (though, not really)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes, most of the time, Merlin wishes that he didn't have to keep so many secrets. In the aftermath of Gloria's escape from Camelot, there isn't much that Merlin can do or say. Arthur explodes into a rage, orders searches throughout the city and the surrounding fields and towns. Every time a company comes back with empty hands and no news, Arthur's frown deepens and his jaw tightens into a hard line. Leon's reaction was calm and subdued; a quiet frown that barely creased his forehead, but he'd gone out with the search parties for days at a time.

Merlin knows that Gloria was gone long before morning; that they won't find her anywhere, but he can't tell Arthur that. So he watches as Arthur clenches his jaw and swings his sword a little bit too hard on the practice field. Arthur’s frustration with his failings is rising and Merlin doesn’t know what to say or do to make it better. He doesn’t know how to tell Arthur that it’s not his fault and when Arthur has to justify and explain himself to his father’s council, Merlin is completely at a loss for words. 

Most members of the council are old men who were knighted by Uther when he was still a young man seeking to conquer a kingdom. They were forged in blood and battle and it's not easy for them to accept that they have become too old for all the physical demands of knighthood. It's not easy for them to accept that their place is at the side-lines, gathered around a table to make decisions while bent over parchment and scrolls. It's not easy on their pride that they are governed by a man less than half their age. They are all loyal to Uther and his court and his laws and they question every decision Arthur makes, wonder out loud whether Uther would do the same thing or not. The only person who openly and steadfastly supports Arthur is Leon, but he is a young man compared to them and it's easy for them to dismiss his opinion.

The escape of the witch has enraged the council. They claim Arthur does not come down hard enough on his enemies, that he is not watchful enough, that he does not support the fight against magic in the way that Uther has always wanted him to. Yet they do it in such a way that Arthur cannot arrest them for impertinence or send them away or discredit them as irrational concerns. It's all 'would it not be prudent, sire?' and 'may I advice you, sire' and 'my lord must not take offence when I say...'

Arthur weathers the accusations with a stoic face, waylays them calmly and knows that they would never question his father like this. Yet, he understands their position. The witch's escape has embarrassed Camelot at a time when they are already perceived as faltering and weak. They need to show their strength or at the very least quell the rumours that Camelot is ripe for the picking. The easiest way would be to conquer a few villages near the border, but Arthur is hesitant to risk his men simply to demonstrate their strength. The council nods in his face but whispers behind his back that the young Pendragon is weak and does not have his father's blood lust. What Merlin considers a compliment, Arthur considers a grave insult.

“You could conquer Ealdor. I'm sure we won't mind,” Merlin offers.

Arthur rolls his eyes and grits out, “shut up, _Mer_ lin.” without looking up from his scroll.

It's only now that Merlin understands how much of a burden kingship really is, especially when Arthur is still performing his duties as crown prince. He still goes out on patrol when the roster dictates, trains with his knights, attends meetings with his father's council, listens to the grievances of his people and the messengers from other kingdoms. He deals with reports and works out how much footsoldiers and knights Camelot can afford in the event of war. He is constantly busy and Merlin finds himself longing for the days when Arthur could ride out to hunt and simply drag Merlin with him whenever he felt like it.

These days he only sees Arthur sparingly. Merlin brings him breakfast in the morning and receives his list of duties for the day. They see each other briefly in the afternoon when Merlin helps him with his armour and then again at dinner when Merlin serves him and Arthur reads reports while eating.

Merlin used to stay until Arthur went to bed, but now Arthur dismisses him away because he needs to concentrate and Merlin's bumbling is distracting him. He used to stand and watch Arthur during practice with the knights, but Arthur provides such a list of duties that he hurries away and only hurries back to help with the armour. Arthur used to dawdle during breakfast some times and they'd chat, but these days Arthur sends him away immediately or has to leave himself. Merlin tries to get him to talk because he has to admit, only to himself, that he misses Arthur.

“... mend my shirt, polish my mail, sharpen my daggers, muck out my stables, exercise my dogs, gather the messages from the ...” Arthur trails off and Merlin looks up from where he's been gathering the plates on his tray while munching on the left overs of Arthur's breakfast.

Arthur is leaning against the wall, looking out the window with the view of the courtyard. He's dressed in his usual, simple brown trousers and red tunic. The weak morning sun glints off his hair and Merlin's eyes trace the line of his neck where Arthur’s stretched back to lean against the wall. Arthur seems lost in thought; his arms crossed in front of his chest and a frown dominating the features of his face. He's nodding slowly to himself.

“Arthur?”

Merlin’s voice seems to snap him out of it and he visibly shakes himself. “Yes, sorry, I was saying ... euhm.” His frown deepens. “You need to mend my shirt, I tore it yesterday.” He nods and heads over to the cupboard to grab his jacket.

Merlin frowns. “You said that already, about the shirt.”

Arthur looks up from where he's been rummaging through the closet. “Did I? Right, I must have.” He turns back to the closet.

“Arthur, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He slips his arms into the jacket and doesn’t even turn to look at Merlin. He heads to the door. “I have a meeting with my father’s council, but I will be training with the knights in the afternoon so you must have my armour ready.”

“Arthur!” Merlin’s call makes him turn. “You’re not alright. You’ve been absent minded for days.”

Arthur turns around and his face changes from impassive to annoyed in the space of a second. “Absent minded? I don't know what you're talking about. I'm as sharp as I've always been.”

“As sharp as this spoon maybe.” And Merlin wiggles the spoon at Arthur's face.

Arthur's whole face tightens and Merlin braces himself. “Maybe, you're right, _Mer_ lin, maybe I have been slipping. Maybe your mental affliction is catching and I should do better to try and flog it out of you before you infect anyone else!”

It's an excessive threat and Merlin doesn't flinch because he knows it’s an empty one. Arthur's temper has been getting out of control lately and this is not the first time Merlin has been on the receiving end of it. He doesn't even have to say anything before Arthur’s face softens and he raises a hand to rub his forehead. His fingers shield his eyes from sight and he drops into his seat at the table. Merlin simply waits, standing on the opposite side of the table, the tray with Arthur’s leftovers between them. 

“I doubt a flogging would do much good.” He sounds tired, but Arthur always sounds tired these days.

“I don't much fancy a flogging either.” Merlin says and is gratified to see that Arthur is smiling weakly. He sits down in the other chair. “You’re not usually that quick-tempered.”

Arthur shrugs. “You bring out the worst in me.” His half-smile is only half-genuine.

Merlin smiles back. “That's a lie. I'm the only reason you're less of a prat now than before we first met.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “ _That _is not true.”__

__“Been using any servants for target practice lately?” Merlin asks, smug look on his face._ _

__“You, not even two weeks ago.” Arthur points out._ _

__Merlin shrugs. “That's just me.”_ _

__Arthur frowns but doesn't say anything._ _

__Merlin resists the urge to fiddle with something, anything. “Something’s on your mind; has been for a while.”_ _

__Arthur’s arm lowers to the table and he fiddles with a grape left on his plate. “My father is _still_ not recovered.”_ _

__Merlin doesn’t really know what to say to that. It’s true that Uther has remained in the same catatonic state they found him in while they were fighting for Camelot’s freedom. He has no physical injury. He simply lies in bed all day, unresponsive to the pleas of his son and his physician. Every once in a while he mumbles nonsense, half-phrases that make little sense to anyone. Gaius said that Uther had suffered a terrible mental blow when Morgana had betrayed him. There was nothing that would heal the king, except time._ _

__Merlin hesitates. “Well, Gaius did say that it could take a long time.”_ _

__“I know that!” The words are hissed between the clench of Arthur’s teeth. “I've spoken to Gaius about this several times. I know that ….” He sighs and scrubs his hand over his face again. “It’s an illness of the mind and the heart, not of the body. It will take time for my father to recover. It has been two months and it could take two more,” he says, reciting the words almost verbatim. “I know all of that.” His eyes meet Merlin’s from across the table. He scratches the spot of skin above his left eyebrow with his pointy finger._ _

__“But, I also know that the longer the king is absent from the court, the weaker he seems. A weak king makes a weak kingdom. I do what I can, but rumours are already spreading. My father _needs_ to recover, for the good of the kingdom. We need to give the impression that Camelot is strong.” He sighs and scrubs the palm of his left hand over his face._ _

__“And, you know, he's your father. You want him to get better,” Merlin says._ _

__Arthur glares at him, but doesn't say anything._ _

__Merlin doesn’t know what to say or how to fill the silence. He knows that so many concerns are lying heavily on Arthur’s mind. But ... if Arthur was worrying about a warlock, or some magical fiend prowling the forest, those were problems Merlin could fix. But what could Merlin do against this? Gaius had assured him that the injury to Uther’s mind could not be healed with magic. If he could have, Merlin would have done so already, if only for Arthur’s sake._ _

__“Gaius said that he should be surrounded by familiar people, people that care about him. You go to see him as often as you can, there’s nothing more you can do.” Merlin says. It’s probably not much assurance, but there’s not much else that he can say. “You’re doing all you can.”_ _

__“It is not enough!” The grape is crushed when Arthur makes a fist and slams it on the table. He makes a disgusted face and wipes his hand on a napkin. “ _I_ am not enough. If Morgana was still here, she would have .....” He doesn’t finish the thought, but he doesn’t have to. _ _

__Merlin clears his throat. “Well ... Every time you’re ill or injured, there’s always a storm of people standing outside your chambers. They all want to see you or help; me, Gwen, your father, Gaius, all of your knights. What about your father’s old friends?”_ _

__Arthur shakes his head. “Most of them have died in battle, or have their own lands or responsibilities in other kingdoms too far away.”_ _

__“What about some of his knights?”_ _

__“He never saw any of his subjects as friends, not the knights, not even Gaius. The only close friends he made were the men he served with as a page or a squire. And like I said; most of them died. The only close friend he still had any regular contact with was ... Lord Godwin.”_ _

__“Princess Elena’s father?”_ _

__Arthur nods and idly worries at the nail of his thumb with his teeth. “Yes.” The “e” is drawn out, as the lines on Arthur’s forehead slowly draw into a frown. If he isn’t careful, the signs of his worries will carve themselves into his face permanently, Merlin thinks._ _

__“Last time Lord Godwyn and his daughter visited, things didn’t go exactly as planned, but no offence was taken. And my father and Godwyn have been friends for a long time.”_ _

__“Maybe you could invite them?” Merlin offers. “If his old friend were to visit him; it might do him some good.”_ _

__“That is not, altogether, a horrible idea,” Arthur says. “But inviting Lord Godwyn and his daughter, the Lady Elena, to court is not a light affair. There’d have to be a celebration, something grand to welcome them.”_ _

__“A grand feast _would_ show that Camelot is not worried or afraid.”_ _

__“Something even better, a tourney!” Arthur's face lights up with the thought._ _

__Merlin feels something heavy grow in the pit of his stomach. He's never witnessed a tournament in Camelot without _something_ going either hideously wrong or a sorcerer trying to kill Arthur or Uther. Tournaments, Merlin has learned, generate crowds of such magnitude that it's easy for dangerous people to slip into the city unnoticed. Not to mention that people have actually _died_ in tournaments, even without evil sorcerers orchestrating their death._ _

__He clears his throat. “Don't you think a feast is enough?”_ _

__Arthur raises his eyebrow. “A feast is fine, but a tournament is better.”_ _

__“It's just...” Merlin shifts in his chair. “Are you sure that's a good idea? A tournament can be very dangerous.”_ _

__“Don't be such an old woman, Merlin.” He stands from the chair and Merlin does so, quickly, trying to convey his worry._ _

__“I'm just saying, with the king injured and in bed, what will the people think if you get hurt, or worse?”_ _

__Arthur smiles. “So little faith in my abilities, Merlin? I'll have you know that I've been winning tourneys since I was fourteen.”_ _

__“It's not your abilities I doubt.” Merlin hastens to reassure and he doesn't know if the twitch near Arthur's mouth means he'd almost made Arthur smile. “It's just … do you remember what happened to Leon after you threw him off his horse when you jousted against him in disguise? It took ages for him to recover.”_ _

__Arthur rolls his eyes. “Getting hurt is part of it. Besides, Leon turned out fine, didn't he?”_ _

__“Yes, but other people have died in tournaments,” Merlin points out._ _

__“A tournament would show that Camelot is as strong as ever.” He straightens. “It will show everyone that _I_ am as good as ever.”_ _

__“Arthur, no one is doubting you. You have proved yourself more than enough times.”_ _

__Arthur's face is stoic now and his smile is nowhere to be found. “I will order to start preparations for Lady Elena’s arrival and I will win this tournament. Now, I suggest you get started on your duties, you have more than enough to do.”_ _

__Merlin nods. “Right, I suppose it's nothing to do with glory and fame and all those things.”_ _

__Arthur grins. “It's just one of the perks, Merlin.”_ _

__There is a spring in his step when he leaves the room and Merlin tries to force the sick feeling in his stomach to go away. Arthur likes tournaments, this will make him relax and maybe even forget for a while. Tournaments mean feasts and good food and people with high spirits. Merlin tries to be happy about it, even if he has to polish armour, muck out stables, exercise dogs, mend a shirt and fetch messages from … somewhere._ _

__To Be Continued_ _


	2. Chapter 2

The news that Dame Elena is visiting spurs the entire castle into action. People are cleaning with a fervour Merlin hasn't seen before. Arthur has pressed on all of them that this is the chance to prove that Camelot is as steadfast, glorious and strong as ever. The servants seem to have taken the words to heart. They take pride in their city and their prince and want to show the world by scrubbing until the floor itself seems to be glowing. Gwaine grumbles to him about it and Merlin takes the chance to tell him about Elena's first visit to Camelot. 

The talk of the feast and the tournament seems to have the whole city bustling with cheer and good humour. This is the first time Merlin has seen this many smiles since they retook it from Morgana. Arthur was right; the news of a tournament seems to have set the whole city aflame. People are piling into Camelot; inns and taverns are making more than twice the gold they usually do, blacksmiths are working day and night to fill the demands for repairs and commissions, trade is flourishing and people are happy and all of the knights look forward to crashing into each other and getting themselves killed.

“It's my first real tournament, Merlin,” Lancelot says.

Merlin gives him look. “It could also be your last.”

Gwaine laughs, “that's the exciting part.”

He claps Merlin on the back before drinking deep from his cup of wine. Merlin didn't really expect any different. The knights seem to be training twice as hard, except for Leon who's resting his knee for as long as possible in hopes of making it strong enough so he can participate in the tournament. Merlin would have taken the injured knee as an excuse not to take part, but he guesses that's why he's not a knight.

Elena and her father are set to arrive a week before the start of the tournament. The day the sentries report that Lord Godwyn's party will reach Camelot by noon, Arthur has Merlin dress him in some of his finer clothes instead of his regular, simple shirts. He orders the knights to gather in standard armour and gather in the courtyard to form an honour guard on the stairs. Merlin thinks it might be a bit much, but it's an enormous display of readiness, strength and glory, which is what the whole tournament is about so he doesn't mention it. Instead he revels in the excited atmosphere and every smile on Arthur's face.

There's the sound of trumpets in the distance, beyond the walls of Camelot and the trumpets in the city answer. “They'll be here soon,” Arthur comments. He idly taps the pommel of his sword with the thumb of his right hand.

“Are you nervous?” Merlin asks and he can't stop the grin spreading over his face.

Arthur turns slightly to frown at Merlin. “Of course I'm not nervous. Elena's a good friend and Lord Godwyn is a friend of my father.” He crosses his arms over his chest and Merlin's mood sinks a little when he realizes that Arthur is close to brooding.

“It'll be lovely to see her again,” Merlin says; trying to lighten the mood.

Arthur just makes a “hmm” sound and nods in agreement. Merlin takes a step forward, bumps their shoulders together and pretends he doesn't see the smile Arthur hides by looking away.

The sun is pleasantly warm and the sky is forget-me-not blue and Merlin thinks it's a wonderful day for a friendly visit. He doesn't really know if he wants Lord Godwyn to bring Uther back from his catatonic state. Maybe he does, if only so the odd stand still Camelot is stuck in will be broken or to lighten the load on Arthur's shoulders. But maybe he doesn't, so that Uther will die and Camelot will finally have the golden king it’s been waiting for. He shakes off the thoughts because this is supposed to be a good day and not a day for brooding and worry.

A second trumpet call announces their entrance into the city and they can hear the clip-clap-clop of the horses long before they see her. Elena is riding her own horse and Merlin isn't surprised at all. The sun is behind her and her hair lights up like spun gold. Her smile is just as blinding and Arthur moves forward to help her off her horse. It's only show of course because he simply waits patiently for Elena to descend from her horse on her own with more grace than Merlin has ever seen. Arthur greets her by kissing the back of her hand and he shakes hands with Lord Godwyn.

“Lady Elena, welcome to Camelot.”

“Thank you, Prince Arthur. It is good to be back in your glorious city.”

They’re words of ceremony, but the smile on her face is genuine. She takes Arthur's arm when he offers it to her to lead her up the stairs. The knights offer small bows respectfully when they pass and Merlin hurries up the stairs after them.

“I want to thank you both for coming on such short notice,” Arthur says, turning slightly in Elena's direction as he leads them to the hall.

“Of course, Arthur,” Elena reassures him. She slightly squeezes the arm she's grasping. “We are friends and you said it was important.”

He inclines his head and halts outside the door of the great hall. “And I cannot thank you enough. Merlin,” he beckons and Merlin quickly obeys. “Elena, I'll let you rest, the journey must have been tiring. If you don't mind, I'll call on you later.”

She smiles. “Of course, it's good to see you again.”

He smiles in return and feels a well of affection for her; this strange princess with a lovely smile and the spirit of a stallion running all out. “It is good to see you too. Merlin will escort you to the chambers prepared for you.”

She nods, “of course.” She releases his arm, quickly embraces her father and waits for Merlin to show her the way. She smiles at him. “Are you going to offer me your arm?”

“I -” Merlin stumbles over his words, blushes to the roots of his hair and quickly offers her his arm. She takes it with a tumble of laughter.

Arthur pushes at the doors to the great hall and when they swing open, he motions for lord Godwyn to proceed ahead of him. He leans towards one of the guards and says in a low tone, “Make sure no one disturbs us.” The guard nods and Arthur quickly steps into the hall and closes the doors behind him.

“Again, I would like to thank you for coming so quickly,” Arthur said.

Godwyn gives him a benevolent smile. “Your message sounded quite urgent. I thought it would only be prudent to come so quickly.”

Arthur nods. “Thank you, please have a seat.” He sits down at the head of the table and offers Godwyn the seat to his right hand. “I trust that what I am about to tell you will not leave this room.”

The older man nods and looks slightly alarmed. “Of course, Arthur, I assure you that anything you say to me will be held in the strictest of confidences.”

“Thank you. I know that you and my father have been close friends for many years,” Arthur says.

Godwyn nods. “This is true. We served as pages together, gained knighthood together and we remained friends even when we parted ways. I consider him my closest friend.”

Arthur smiles. “I am glad that my father is honoured to have a friend such as yourself. You must understand that I truly appreciate the alliance between our two countries and that I consider your daughter a close friend of mine.”

Godwyn nods. “I know. You and Elena have been exchanging letters, is that not true?”

Arthur nods, hiding his surprise. His correspondence with Elena has been a heavily guarded secret. He was sure that he'd managed to hide it even from Merlin. It felt good to have a friend he could ask for advice, someone completely removed from Camelot and the situation, someone even Merlin didn't know about, just for himself.

“It is true. Elena is a wise and kind person. I benefit greatly from her council and her support. It is good to see her again in person.”

“I am glad that Elena has such a good friend, Arthur, someone to look after her interests.”

Arthur pauses at that and then nods. “In her letters to me, she mentioned that you were worried about some of the rumours that reached your country; rumours concerning Camelot.”

Godwyn looks slightly uneasy. “I have heard some … things, but I assure you that I have done my best to end the rumours when I hear them.”

“It is good of you to be so discreet. However, in every rumour there is a small nugget of truth. I am sure you have heard that my father has fallen ill.”

“I have heard such a rumour yes. But whether it is true or not, illness can be cured.”

Arthur digs the nail of his thumb in the skin of pointy finger. “It is true that my father has fallen grievously ill. The matter of his cure, however, is slightly more complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“My father's illness is not of a physical nature. I am sure you are aware that Camelot suffered a tragic blow a few months ago when Morgana of the House of Golois usurped the throne.”

“I have heard, but nothing more substantial than rumours, Arthur.”

Arthur leans back in his seat. He has hopes that the news of Morgana being Uther's real daughter has not spread so far. The further the rumour spreads, the more people or magic users might align themselves with Morgana, now that she has a valid claim to the throne.

“What kind of rumours?” he asks.

“I have heard that … Morgana is actually your father's natural born daughter.” The truth is phrased delicately, but it doesn't take away that it is the truth and that it is horrible. Arthur clenches his teeth together.

“In confidence, I have to admit that the rumours are true.” Godwyn doesn't say anything and his face remains carefully neutral. Arthur takes a deep breath. “My father was betrayed by a girl he had sheltered and loved for many years. This betrayal made his mind sick. My physician tells me that only time can heal my father. He says that he needs to be surrounded by people who care for him.” He sits up a little bit straighter. “My Lord, you are one of my father's oldest and closest friends. I was hoping that, perhaps, if you spoke with him, spend some time with him, that it might aid his recovery.”

“Arthur, of course I wish to help you and your father in any way that I can. Uther and I have been the closest of friends for many, many years.” Lord Godwyn looks truly sincere; leaning forward in his chair and a careful, concerned frown adorning his face. 

Arthur nods. “I am most grateful. I will walk you to your chamber, allow you some time to rest and perhaps, afterwards, I can take you to see my father.”

Godwyn nods graciously. “Of course. It must be hard for you, to see your father so grievously ill.”

Arthur stands from his seat. “Yes, but I have faith that he will recover. He is a strong man.”

Godwyn stands as well. “Yes, Uther has always been a strong man.”

Arthur leads him away to the hall to a set of chambers near the eastern tower, next to the chambers made available to his daughter. During the walk, he politely asks Godwyn about how his stronghold and his people are doing. He listens to the answers and carefully answers any questions asked him. He is as polite and courteous as he's ever been. He says goodbye to Godwyn at his door and only needs to go a few steps before reaching Elena's door. He knocks politely.

“Come in!” Her voice sounds cheerful and Arthur opens the door to find Elena sitting at the small vanity set up in the corner, sipping a golden cup and Merlin standing near the window, also holding a cup. The sight makes him stop for a moment, because nothing about this situation is in any way proper. Then again, it's Merlin and Elena and he decides to let it slide.

“Arthur!” Elena smiles and puts down her cup. She stands to hug him and he briefly presses her close before releasing her. “It is very good to see you again.” Her smile is broad and honest.

He smiles back. “It is good to see you too. I trust that you find your accommodation to your liking?”

She laughed. “It's perfect, Arthur, thank you very much. Do have a seat and some wine, I insist.”

“Very well, I won't refuse you.” He gladly accepts the offer of a drink because he needs a drink after the conversation he had with Godwyn. She motions to Merlin and he immediately moves to the table to pour a third cup and give it to Arthur. He wants to make a snide comment about how Merlin is never such a good servant, but he's tired and he doubts that Elena would take it with the same humour that Merlin does.

“Thank you, Merlin.” He says and he can see the 'Where did those manners come from?' form in Merlin's mind, but he doesn't really say anything either. Arthur smiles to hold back his laughter and Merlin smiles in return, sharing the same joke. Arthur clears his throat and frowns, tries to keep the smile off his face. “I believe that will be all.”

Elena smiles brightly. “Yes, thank you very much Merlin, but you can go now. I won't detain you from your duties any longer.”

Merlin bows lightly. “I didn't mind being detained.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Out, Merlin.”

“Whatever you say, sire.” The disrespectful twat nearly skips out of the door.

Arthur shakes his head and Elena is still smiling. She pulls him to the table and they sit down next to each other. “Come now, tell me. Why have you asked us to come here?”

Arthur sighs; he doesn't want to rehash this conversation. “My father is ill and Gaius said that good company might help him get better. That is why I wrote to your father and of course, you are a good friend and I wished to see you again. Celebrating your visit, gave me an excuse to hold a tournament.”

She gave him a solemn look. “I am sorry to hear about your father.” She put her hand on his arm. “It must be hard. I don't know what I would do without my father. I am glad that we can help.” She brightened. “And of course, a tournament is always good fun. I like to watch the jousting.”

Arthur cocks his head sideways, grateful for the distraction. “Jousting, my lady?”

“Well,” she leans forward and there is a spark of mischief in her eyes, “you'd be surprised, my lord, how badly some knights sit their horse.”

Arthur laughs. “Truly?”

“Oh yes, it is quite appalling. Most men ride their horses with short stirrups and short reins, but the true way to sit a horse is to sit it loosely. Let the horse guide you. It knows where it's going. You must sit with your shoulders back and offer no counter to the horse. I have noticed that the winner of the joust is often the man who sits his horse best; the man who knows and trusts his horse.”

“And where have you gathered all this knowledge?” he asked her, curious.

“I watch, my lord, and I have always known how to ride a horse. Do you not agree with my assessment?”

He grinned. “I would never gainsay you when it comes to horses, Elena. And you are quite right about the stirrups. Short stirrups make an armoured man top-heavy and during the joust that can be a lethal mistake; the full plate is incredibly heavy.”

She nods eagerly. “The feet must actually be as low as possible. When you stand upright, you shouldn't clear the saddle any more than a hair. I don't know why men insist on riding with short stirrups.”

Arthur shrugged. “It makes them feel like they're more in control of the horse, but if you need to be in such tight control during the joust then you've already lost. You need to train your horse before the joust, so you can trust it to steer you true when you have to focus on aiming your lance.”

Elena nodded thoughtfully. “That does sound reasonable. I think I should like to joust one day, perhaps, if it wasn't so awfully dangerous.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should have races too. You'd definitely win the field in a race.”

She laughed. “I don't think my father would permit me to compete.” She fiddled with a crease in her frock. “He wants me to focus my attention on finding a suitable husband instead of riding off all the time.”

Arthur put down his cup. “I was under the impression that he wanted you to find love?”

“Oh, he does.” She hastened to assure him. “But he also wants me to … be settled if anything should happen to him. He feels that he is not as young as he once was and he wants to see me married before he dies. I believe he is exaggerating, but he worries.” She took a sip from her cup and grinned. “So, I promised him that I would dance with every available knight at the feast and act like a true lady,” she laughed, “as if everyone's beneath me.”

Arthur laughs too. “Well, I have plenty unmarried knights in the court. All of my best knights are unmarried. You'll have the pick of the crop.” He took a drink while she laughed again.

“You're scandalous, Arthur Pendragon.” She winked at him. “Now, tell me about that girl you keep mentioning in your letters, Guinevere, wasn't it?”

And Arthur can feel himself blush bright red while he tells her all about Guinevere.

To Be Continued....

Author’s Note: all the stuff about the horses and the armour I got from John Steinbeck’s version of the Arthurian Myth (which is quite good even if he never got around to finishing it).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the stuff about the horses and the armour I got from John Steinbeck’s version of the Arthurian Myth (which is quite good even if he never got around to finishing it).


	3. Chapter 3

The soft tinkling of a minstrel's harp echoes in the background and some of the nobles who arrived early are mingling in the throne room. The servants are passing around cups and refilling the empty ones. Merlin is already there, in the special livery Arthur provided for him, but he can't find a familiar face in the crowd. Gaius is talking to Geoffrey of Monmouth in the far right corner, but Merlin doesn't really feel like listening to the two of them reciting herbs and their uses at each other. Most of the knights aren't there yet and Arthur had said that he didn't need Merlin to help him dress, which was oddly disappointing. He'd been looking forward to a few moments just between the two of them before the feast; he wouldn't even have minded if Arthur had used the time to order The Hat unto his head. But instead Arthur had sent him away and Merlin will have to be a servant all night.

He's busy filling several cups with wine for other servants to pass around when a familiar face graciously comes to accept one. He smiles broadly. “Gwen! You look lovely.” And she does. She's wearing a pink and white dress that looks vaguely familiar and all the lines of her face are soft and glowing. Her mouth curls into a smile and she's never looked prettier. 

She blushes shyly. “Thank you, Merlin.” She puts her cup down and circles the table. “Let me help you with that.” She tries to take the jug from him but he quickly holds it out of her reach.

“Gwen, no! You're a guest tonight, you're not supposed to be serving.”

She drops back down from where she'd been reaching on the tip of her toes. “I just … feel guilty letting you do all the work. Well, not guilty, you know, but …. It's odd, not doing any of the work.” He can see her stop herself before going on a rambling rampage.

“Gwen, it's fine.” He fills a few more cups and picks one up for himself. “Besides, you have a seat at the high table tonight. It would be unseemly for you to be serving wine.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Just as it's unseemly for you to be drinking wine meant for the guests?” But she's smiling so he knows she doesn't mean it.

At the far side of the room, the double doors open and Arthur steps inside. He's escorting Lady Elena who's dressed in a light blue gown. She looks pretty and beautiful; her head held high and as graceful as she used to be clumsy. The whole room turns to face them and everyone either gives a low courtesy or a bow. Arthur smiles benevolently and nods back. His eyes scan the crowd and Merlin can see the exact moment Arthur's eyes land on Gwen because his smile becomes that little bit more genuine. After graciously presenting Elena, he leads them all to the banquet hall where they take their seats.

The tables have been arranged in a rectangle with one side missing to create space for a dance floor. Every plate and utensil is gleaming gold and brass in the light of dozens of candles and Merlin can nearly hear the tables groaning under the weight of the bowls of food. A big, proud boar is the centrepiece and its skin has been grilled to a crisp gold perfection. Merlin hopes some of the meat will be leftover at the end and that he'll have the chance to taste it.

Arthur sits in the middle, his back to the large windows with Lady Elena on his left and Gwen on his right. Elyan is seated on Gwen's right with Lancelot on his right, who is flanked by Percival. Merlin casts his eye over the rest of the hall from his position behind Arthur and has a brief moment of eye contact with Leon who takes his seat next to two knights he doesn't recognize. They must be Sir Kay and Sir Lamorak, part of Elena's personal guard. They are seated next to her, dressed in blue capes with an unfamiliar crest. Gwaine is not as discreet as simple eye contact and a nod and gives Merlin a big, exaggerated wave when sitting down next to Leon. Merlin bites his lip to stop his laughter bubbling out. The rest of the court is also taking their seats and Merlin looks over them, but sees no one out of place, no one suspicious and he might actually relax at this feast.

When the whole court is seated, Arthur slowly rises to his feet, a cup raised in the air. “My dear friends, I thank you all for attending this feast, in honour of Princess Elena. Her father and mine have been good friends for a very long time and I am honoured to say that Elena has become a very close friend of mine as well. I can only hope that our friendship will be as long and as enduring as that of our fathers. May our countries live together long in peace.”

There's polite applause and Arthur inclines his head to acknowledge it before sitting down. The chatter starts almost immediately. It sounds happy and careless and Merlin sees the muscles in Arthur's shoulders relax slightly when he leans to the left to speak with Elena. Gwen is chatting with her brother and Merlin steps into the space between their two chairs to fill up the cups. Gwen smiles. “Thank you, Merlin.” She carefully lowers her voice to ask, “would you like me to save you some of the boar?”

His neck flushes red and he grins. “Only if you can't finish it all.”

Elyan laughs. “Look at it. It's huge. I'm sure there's more than enough.”

Merlin grins and steps back. The boar might be huge, but Elyan has never been to a feast before, so he doesn't know how much like pigs some of the knights can be. He doubts there will be any part of the boar left at the end. He doesn't let it bother him because he's sure he'll be able to get something out of the leftover scraps and whatever it is, it'll no doubt be of better quality than Merlin can possibly afford. Instead, he focuses on making sure that the cups are filled and hurrying when fetching a new jug from the kitchen. When he goes to fill Elena's cup she smiles at him, before turning back to Arthur.

“So, there is a marked difference between decorative armour and proper armour?”

Arthur nods carefully. “Well yes, just because armour looks good doesn't mean that it functions well. Take my armour for example. It's simple steal, not decorated with gold or jewels or anything, but it's strong and it keeps me safe. When it needs to look good, all it needs is to be polished.”

She takes a bite out of an apple. “I see your point. I know there must be a marked difference between quality, but what about styles?”

“Well, mostly helmets differ, but the way the steel is handled is very important as well. Gwen, actually,” he turns while speaking and lightly touches Gwen on the arm to get her attention, “and Elyan,” he nods to the other knight, “were the blacksmith's children. Elyan himself is quite skilled in the smithy. I wager they know more about the set of steel than I do.”

He steps back before he can hear the rest of the conversation, but he watches Elena lean as far forward in her seat as she can while Arthur carefully takes Gwen's hand in his under the table. A movement from the corner of his eyes catches his attention and he grins when he sees its Gwaine waving at him. He quickly goes to fill his cup.

“You're not too bored back there, are you?” Gwaine asks.

“I'm fine, why? You not enjoying yourself?”

Leon snorts. “I wonder how he could possibly not be enjoying himself with this kind of titillating conversation.”

Gwaine nods. “Oh yes, the wealth Lord Something-Or-Other’s estates bring in every year are absolutely fascinating.”

Leon drinks from his goblet. “I can't imagine how Lord Gaffin manages to spend it all.”

“He spends most of it on cards,” Merlin mumbles, filling Leon's goblet. “or on funding errant knights in hopes that his colours might defeat Arthur one day and he can take the credit.”

They're both silent for a bit. Leon, especially, looks surprised.

Gwaine frowns. “How do you know that?”

Merlin shrugs. “I'm a servant. Nobility treats me like furniture. They say everything in front of me. He really doesn't like Arthur.”

Leon holds up his cup so Merlin can fill it easily. “How much does he spend on cards?”

“More than he should and he always loses.”

Gwaine grins. “Is that so?”

Eventually, some servants from the kitchen come in and start removing some of the empty bowls and, Merlin watches mournfully, the empty bones of the boar. Platters with delicate looking cakes are placed on the tables and there is a pleased murmur in the air when people start sampling them. Eventually, the lonely minstrel at the harp who has been tinkling cheerfully all evening is replaced by several musicians who strike up a popular song.

There's some laughter at the furthest end of the tables and a few knights rise to their feet to ask some of the ladies to dance. Merlin's feet are starting to ache and he hopes that he'll be able to excuse himself soon, or at the very least be released from his duties. He shifts his weight from side to side. He watches as Elyan asks his sister to dance and they leave their seats for the dance floor. At the same time, one of the knights from Elena's party asks her to dance.

“I can hardly leave Arthur on his own.”

Arthur laughs. “Oh no, don't worry about me, Elena. I do remember you said you promised your father to accept every dance proposal.”

She laughs, gently and with a studied air, but Merlin finds himself smiling at the sound anyway. She accepts and stands from her seat. Arthur waves his hand for Merlin to come closer and so Merlin does, moves to pour Arthur's cup, but finds it full.

“Have a seat, Merlin,” Arthur says and slides his plate still filled with several pieces of boar, bread and cheese to Gwen's seat, where Merlin is now sitting. “I heard you and Gwen whispering to each other earlier.”

Merlin grins and fills Gwen's cup with wine for himself. “Thanks.” And he immediately stuffs some meat in his mouth.

Arthur grimaces at him. “Yeeees,” he clears his throat, “See, I'm not that bad.”

“Hmmm,” Merlin hums and swallows. “You have your moments.”

He takes a gulp of wine and Arthur shakes his head. They're silent together and watch the dancing. Gwen is still dancing with her brother, but Elena has moved on to a second dance partner. It might be Sir Tristram, but Merlin is uncertain in this light. A second look across the room reveals the sight of Gwaine and Lord Gaffin sitting down at a table where two other lords are playing cards. 

“It's a good feast.” Merlin says and stuffs a slice of bread with meat into his mouth.

Arthur hmms and nods, fingers idly playing with the stem of his cup. The tune ends and the crowd applauds politely. They watch quietly as Elena is asked to dance by Leon and Gwen and Elyan sit down at the far end of the table at vacated seats.

Merlin gestures with a piece of cheese. “Aren't you going to ask Gwen to dance?”

Arthur shakes his head and seems to stretch lightly in his chair. “No, I'm not much of a dancer. Besides, Elyan will dance with her.”

Merlin turns to look at him and grins. “You've missed me.”

Arthur raises both his eyebrows. “What?” His mouth curls around the word with such incredulity that it makes Merlin grin.

“You miss me. That's why you saved me some food and are sitting here with me instead of dancing with Gwen.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but Merlin can see the pleased, upturned corner of his mouth. “How could I possibly miss you, Merlin? I see you every day.” At the sight of Merlin's grin, he scowls and says, “it's not as if I would miss you even if I didn't see you every day. You're the worst manservant I've ever had.” He drinks from his cup.

Merlin grins and drinks too. “I do alright, besides, I'm a great friend.”

Arthur snorts but doesn't say anything to deny it and Merlin can feel that familiar, warm feeling bubble up in his belly. He takes his last bite of meat and bread and fiddles with his bit of cheese.

“It was kind of you, to praise Gwen and Elyan like that.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I mean, about the set of steel and armour and things.”

Arthur clears his throat. “Most people would feel that I was insulting them, revealing that they weren't born of noble blood.”

Merlin shrugs. “Elena doesn't care about that kind of thing and you know that Gwen takes pride in who her father was. It was kind of you.”

Arthur sits up straight. “Why do you always seem surprised when I'm kind, _Mer-_ lin?”

Merlin smiles. “I'm not surprised. I'm just glad.”

Arthur gives him a suspicious look but doesn't say anything. He looks back to the dance floor and smiles. Merlin looks too and Elena is dancing with Percival now. She looks absolutely tiny besides him and doesn't even flinch when he steps on her foot.

“So, what did Godwyn say?” Merlin asks when he swallows down the last bite of cheese and washes it down with wine.

Arthur sighs. “He seemed sympathetic and promised to talk to my father. I took him to see the king and … he was absolutely shocked. I can't say I'm surprised. If I had seen my father like this, only two months ago, I wouldn't have believed it was the same man.”

Because of the prolonged bed rest Uther had lost a lot of weight. The king is shrinking in front of their eyes. His hair grows thin and frail in wispy trails and the scraggly mess of his beard is hard to shave because the skin on his face is sagging. Merlin nods carefully, but doesn't say anything.

“He decided not to attend to feast, but to sup with my father. He hopes that it will bring back memories of the two of them eating together and that it might snap him out of it.” Arthur said and he took a drink. “To be honest, even if this doesn't work, I'm glad I invited him and Elena.”

Merlin smiles. “It is good to see her again. She's really beautiful.”

“And far above you, Merlin,” Arthur points out.

Merlin sits back in the chair and shakes his head. “I'm actually very charming, all the girls say so. Gwen has said so.”

“That's because Gwen's a good person. She was probably trying to spare your feelings.”

Merlin laughs because he's talking with Arthur, his belly is warm with wine and he just had a lovely meal. He really hopes that nothing happens tonight because it would spoil what has been a very good evening so far. He takes another drink of his cup and watches Gwaine and Elena dance together. He can see their lips move for a few minutes and then fall back into silence.

“Why is she dancing with every knight?” Merlin asks.

Artur shakes his head at Merlin's ignorance. “Her father wants her to find a suitable husband here.”

“And dancing does that?”

Arthur shrugs. “It provides some illusion of privacy to exchange a few words.”

Merlin frowns. “But, you can't decide to marry someone based on a few words.”

“No, but it may spur someone into seeking courtship, or something and it can be part of courtship and all of that.”

Merlin hums in understanding even if he doesn't actually. He's never danced with anyone, not any of the girls in his village, or anyone in Camelot, or Freya. He takes a deep breath when he thinks of her and there's a sharp spike of bitter sweet longing. He misses her, but the missing has become soft and not a sad thing. He knows that what they had was a dream and that Merlin wouldn’t have been able to outrun his destiny forever. But it had been such a lovely dream.

“Merlin.”

“Hmm, what?”

He looks up and finds Arthur looking at him, the gold candlelight glinting of his hair and the shadows darkening his eyes. It’s possible that Arthur is just a little bit drunk; his eyes mellow and soft. “Where did you go? You looked miles away.”

Merlin looks back at the dance floor and Gwen and Elyan are dancing again.

“I was just thinking of someone.”

There's a beat of silence, as if Arthur is running through all the people he thinks Merlin might know and is coming up blank. “Someone in Ealdor?”

He looks back to Arthur. “No, someone I met in Camelot. But she had to leave.” He'd never asked Freya if she liked dancing and now he doesn't know if they would have, maybe, at a feast like this. He looks back at the dance floor. “You should ask Gwen to dance.”

He feels the warmth and weight of Arthur's hand come to rest on his shoulder. “No, I'll stay right where I am.”

To Be Continued...


	4. Chapter 4

People are pouring into the city for trade, crafts, extra work for the tournament and of course, to actually see the tournament. Besides that, there are also knights and their retinue being bunked in the citadel. Arthur is busy greeting them and making sure that they have everything they need to participate. All the knights are going absolutely crazy with training, even Gwaine is taking in extra hours on the training grounds. Besides that, he keeps disappearing into the forest and Merlin guesses that he's training on his own, the way he used to before he found a home in Camelot and his fellow knights. 

Merlin, though, is having a calm time of it, oddly enough. Arthur has instructed Merlin that his only duties from now on are to bring Arthur his food and make sure that his armour and weapons are clean, polished and undamaged. All of the rest will be taken care of by other servants. Merlin knows that it's less for his benefit and more for the people coming to town, hoping to make some extra earnings to scrape by. 

There aren't as many competitors as there could have been, but news of the tournament has only been out for about three to four weeks. Because of the limited outside competitors Arthur kept the number of Camelot competitors low by organizing a brief, closed competition to determine which knights of Camelot were allowed to compete. Unsurprisingly, the winners of the small competition were Arthur, Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Elyan and Percival. Merlin isn't anywhere near surprised. When he closes his eyes, he can see still see them; haggard and near defeat, but fighting an immortal army anyway and standing their ground. 

The other competitors are the two knights, Cai and Lamorak, who came as part of Elena's protective guard, four knights of Carleon, three knight errants and one knight of the kingdom of Ban. Merlin can't remember all of their names or their shields. The only one he tries to memorise is Leon's because it's the only shield fighting for Camelot he doesn't know yet. Gwaine is still pretending to be a commoner instead of using his family’s crest. Lancelot, Percival and Elyan used to be commoners and don’t have a family crest; they are carrying the crest of Camelot. 

Merlin scrubs harder at Arthur's shield and watches him do that thing when he blindfolds himself and lets the other knights try and beat him up. Of course they don't succeed and it all just culminates in Arthur showing off. Merlin would roll his eyes, if it wasn't terribly impressive. Because it is and he keeps sneaking looks whenever he can get away with it. There are other knights practising on the field of course, but Arthur seems to outdo them all. 

“He's impressive, isn't he?” Gwen says when she sits down next to him. There's a basket of laundry carefully placed at her feet and Merlin gets a glimpse of a familiar looking red shirt. 

Merlin looks up and sees Arthur expertly swiping one knight's legs from underneath him while knocking another's sword out of his hands and striking him to the ground. “A little bit, maybe.” 

Gwen laughs and settles the folds of her skirt with small, elegant flutters of her hand. She's wearing a simple, yellow dress and Merlin has always liked this colour on her. 

“You look pretty.”

She blushes and looks back at the training field. “Thank you.” 

Merlin turns to look at her. “So what are you up to?” 

Gwen shrugs, as if it's no big deal. “Arthur is going to walk me home after his practice and we're going to have lunch together.”

“Sounds lovely.” Merlin says and swipes his rag over Arthur's shield one last time. It's shining in the sun, the crest of Camelot and the house of Pendragon such a gold that winks across the field at its enemies. A shadow blocks the sun. 

“Good job, Merlin.” Arthur says. The blindfold is hanging loosely around his neck. He picks up the shield and inspects it closely before nodding. “Well done, take it to my quarters. I'll be right with you.” 

Merlin stares at him. “Well done?” 

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “Fishing for compliments, are you?” 

Merlin rolls his eyes and takes the shield from Arthur. “Right then, I'll lay out some clean clothes for you?” 

Arthur looks back at him, the smile aimed at Gwen still on his face. “That' fine.” 

Arthur watches Merlin walk away, out of earshot, and looks back at Gwen. “You look lovely.” 

She blushes so prettily and stands, her hands fluttering by her skirt nervously. He resists the urge to take her hand in his and kiss her because while everyone might know, there is still something to be said for discretion. He does allow himself to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I'm sorry I'm a little late. I got caught up.” 

She smiles, broad enough to light up the sun and Arthur has that light-headed feeling again. “It's fine, Arthur. I know that everyone has been training a lot, for the tournament.” 

He smiles back. “Thank you. I'll just go change and then I'll walk you home.” 

“I'll be right here.” 

He lightly touches her shoulder and walks away. He resists the urge to look back at her and races to his chamber. Merlin quickly helps him out of his gear so Arthur can wash off the sweat with water from the washbasin and dress in the clean clothes Merlin laid out for him. He's out of the door within ten minutes and hurries back to the training grounds. It's almost empty by now, but he can see Leon demonstrating a move for Percival in a corner, with a few of the other knights watching. Gwen is standing right where he left her, talking to Lancelot. 

The sight doesn't pull him up short, but only because he's been trained not to betray his thoughts since he was a boy. He doesn't know what to think of Lancelot and Gwen talking to each other. He knows how they felt about each other, but he doesn't know how they feel about each other now and he doesn't really want to ask either. He slowly approaches and Gwen catches sight of him. 

“Arthur.” She's smiling broadly and he wants to wrap her in his arms and hold her close. 

Lancelot smiles and gives him a polite nod. “Arthur.” 

Arthur smiles broadly. “Good to see your shoulder's alright.” 

Lancelot shrugs and raises one hand to lightly rub at his left shoulder. “Percival didn't hit it that hard.” 

Arthur shakes his head. “Build like that, even a light blow feels like a blow with a hammer. He'll be a force to be reckoned with in the tournament.”

They all turn to look at him on the far corner of the field. “He'll do very well.” Lancelot says, quiet and solemn. 

“If he can move his feet.” Arthur adds, looking back to Gwen. She's smiling, indulgent and he feels a grin cross over his face. “Shall we go?” He offers her his arm. 

She smiles broadly and takes it, tucks herself in close to his side. “I'd love to.” 

He smiles and reaches for her basket of clothing. “Would you like me to carry that for you?” 

“Yes, thank you.”

They both say goodbye to Lancelot and leave the practise field. It's a beautiful day; blue skies and sunshine all around. Arthur can't think of anything more wonderful than spending it with Gwen. It reminds him of the day they had the picnic together. It was perfect, up until they got caught. He shies away from the memory. 

“It's a fine day.” Gwen says and leans her head against his shoulder. They have to carefully navigate their way through the city because it's full to bursting with people. 

“It is.” Arthur says, looking up. “I hope the weather will be similar for the tournament.” 

“I'm sure it will be.” Gwen says. “It was a good idea; to hold a tournament and to invite Elena. How is she doing?” 

“She's doing very well. I see her regularly for supper. She likes Camelot and she likes the grounds surrounding the city. She goes riding a lot. I think she's not allowed to ride as much on her own back home.” 

Gwen laughs. “I can hardly believe anyone stopping Elena from doing anything she wants to. Do you know, she came to visit my father's forge yesterday?” 

Arthur shakes his head. “I had no idea. She hasn't mentioned it.” 

Gwen laughs again. “Well, she did. She just showed up and wanted to see everything. I explained as best as I could and gave her a tour. I'm lucky Elyan came home on time to explain everything properly. I know things, but he has some hands on experience.”

“I'm sure Elena appreciated it. She does seem to be enjoying herself.” 

Gwen squeezes closer. “I'm glad. I quite like her. She was very kind at the feast. She reminds me of Morgana, when she was still with us, before everything.” 

They haven't spoken of Morgana before. 

“You were very close, I know.” Arthur says. 

“We were, yes, but then, after you found her, when she'd been missing that year, she was so different. Looking back, we were not as close and she was more of a mistress than a friend. But she'd been gone for so long that I didn't notice at first. If I'd noticed sooner ….” 

Arthur shakes his head. “She fooled everyone. I'd known her all my life. She was like a sister to me and I didn't notice anything different about her either. She seemed just as charming and wicked as ever.” 

Gwen lets out a small huff of laughter. “She always was a bit wicked. But still,” She stops and takes a deep breath. “I know she wanted to change things. She disapproved of your father's laws on magic, but we were her family and she just started hating us. It was like she stopped thinking of us as people and only thought of us as ….” 

“Minions of her enemy?” Arthur asks, quietly. 

She shrugs. “Something like that.” 

They stop at her door and Gwen lets them in with her key. The table is already set. He sets the basket of clothing on the floor, near the bed. Gwen takes off her shawl and carefully drapes it over the back of a chair. 

“I remember when she almost died, falling down those stairs. It hurt so much when I thought we were going to lose her,” Gwen says, turning to the counter. “We were mourning her and I don't even know how many times she'd betrayed us by then. I just don't know why.” 

Arthur doesn't know what to say to that, to make things better. He's not good with words so he just steps up behind her and wraps his arms around her. He pulls her close to him to offer comfort in the only way he knows how. “She loved us all once, Gwen, I'm sure. I don't know why she stopped.” 

Gwen turns in his arms to face him and then she smiles. It's slightly strained, but it's real. “You're right; she loved us all once. Maybe that's enough.” 

He slightly strokes her hair. “I hope it is.” 

She pulls back and motions for him to sit, so he does. “It must be harder on you, though, finding out that Morgana is actually your sister.” 

His first instinct is too immediately correct her with 'half-sister,' but he swallows the words back. He shrugs and fiddles with the knife. “I could hardly believe it, at first. I couldn't believe that my father could betray his best friend like that, could betray my mother like that. But,” he struggles to get the words out, “I remember all the times he dotted on her. There were so many times when … if Morgana had been anyone else; he would have thrown her in the dungeons. The only time he was ever harsh with her was when she caused strife between them.”

Gwen puts down a large platter with cheese and bread and some apples and sits down across from him. “They were very close.” 

He nods and waits until she's put some cheese and bread on her own plate before taking some himself. It's hard to talk about this, even with Gwen. He feels naked, exposed and uncomfortable. He shifts in his seat and shakes his head, tries desperately to think of something else to say so they can stop talking about this. He has not spoken of Morgana ever since she disappeared from Camelot, not even to Merlin. He takes a deep breath. “But she's gone now and I doubt she'll be back.” 

“You don't think she's going to come back to Camelot?” Gwen asks. 

Arthur shakes his head. “No, not for now at least. She has a claim to the throne, but I'm older than her, by a few months at least. So both my father and I would have to be dead for her claim to mean anything. Even so, neither the knights nor the people would support her. She's still a threat, as long as she's out there. But we're all safe for now.” 

Gwen smiles. “That's good. I'm sure you'll keep us all safe.” 

Arthur nods. “As best as I can.” 

She reaches across the table to cover his hand with hers. “Your best is more than enough.” Her eyes hold his, strong and faithful. “I believe in you, Arthur.” 

To Be Continued


	5. Chapter 5

The tournament starts with jousting and Merlin doesn’t know whether he likes it less or more than a melee. Whatever the fight; the results are the same he thinks, wincing when Lancelot and Elyan break their lances on each other’s shield. Elyan is pressed back, his spine arching backwards over the saddle while the muscles of his arms tense and lock in an effort to restrain his horse. Lancelot is leaning forward, his horse having slowed to a trot and his shield arm is moving slowly, painfully. Yet neither of them are unhorsed or too severely injured to discontinue and so their squires simply take the lances, check the armour and the horses before they line up again, ready for another round. Merlin shakes his head and looks away when the horses are spurred on, their hooves like thunder on the ground. One of the horses whinnies loudly and Merlin can’t resist; he looks up just in time to see Elyan’s lance smash and shatter on Lancelot’s shield while Lancelot’s catches Elyan right in the chest. Elyan is thrown of his horse in a graceless stumble; his leg swinging wildly to the left while he crashes to the ground. He’s lucky, Merlin thinks, because he’s seen knights swing to the left but sprain their right foot in the stirrup and get dragged over the ground with no one to stop the horse from trampling them. 

Gwen makes a small, wounded sound next to him when the crowd in the stands explodes into cheers. Lancelot expertly hands his lance over to a squire and takes off his helmet. His hair is plastered to his skull and exhaustion seeps through the stiff jerk of his elbow when he lowers his arm again. There’s a broad and satisfied grin on his face when he rides out to meet the applause of the public. Elyan, in the mean time, is helped to his feet and ushered out of the arena, away to a tent where Gaius will look him over. Gwen touches Merlin lightly on the arm and then leaves the side-lines. He knows she’ll be going round the back of the stands to see if her brother’s alright. 

“That was brutal,” Gwaine remarks from next to him. He turns to look at the stands where some of the other participating knights are sitting to see if they’re impressed. They’re all carefully stony-faced. Merlin casts his eyes over the crowd too and sees the elation, the barefaced _awe_ that Merlin felt himself the first time he saw Arthur win a fight (and secretly still does). A second glance lands him on Elena and her father sitting on the raised dais; seats of honour normally preserved for the King and his ward. Elena appears to be concentrating on the joust; leaning forward in her seat with a frown on her forehead. Her father, on the other hand, seems to be lost in thought. 

Merlin shrugs. “I’ve seen worse.” He thinks of Leon only two years ago, dragged along in the dust by his horse and of the knight errant last year, whose old and rusty armour had bent and broken under the lance until it had pierced his side and gushed his blood and guts out on the sand. He looks back at Gwaine. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Gwaine grins, broad and careless. “Of course I’m sure. As _Sir_ Gwaine, I have a reputation to think about.” 

“People have died. It’s dangerous,” Merlin presses. 

Gwaine’s smile dims slightly, but not enough. “I’ve done dangerous things before, my friend. I’ll be fine.” 

He sounds so calm, so sure of himself and Merlin decides to let it go because he won’t be able to change Gwaine’s mind. It’s crazy, absolutely mental and Merlin has been around long enough to know that all knights are, at the very least, slightly mental. Instead he smiles. “Fine, just don’t expect me to care when you get your head smashed in.”

Gwaine just laughs and throws his arm around Merlin’s shoulder. They watch as Lancelot turns his horse one last time and, with the roar of the crowd in his ears, gallops out of the arena through the other exit. Merlin sighs and turns away from Gwaine’s arm. “I have to go.” 

Gwaine nods and heads for the stands. “Give Arthur my best of luck. If he loses now, tell him I think he did it on purpose just so he won’t have to face me.”

Merlin grins and gives him a thumbs up before heading to the row of tournament tents. He sees Arthur talking calmly to Leon. The older knight has already won his joust for the day against one of the knights of Carleon. Arthur’s joust is the last of the day and the rest of the jousting will be done tomorrow. He quickly hurries forward to help Arthur with his lance and his shield. He’s already dressed in his armour and his horse is ready and eager to go, judging by the way he’s pawing the ground with his hoof. 

Leon steps back when Merlin gets close enough to strap the shield to Arthur’s arm and help him mount. He takes one of the lances from the standards and holds it ready. 

“Gwaine told me to give you the best of luck.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course Gwaine would rely on luck. I don’t need it.” 

Merlin grins. “Of course you don’t.” 

Leon doesn’t say anything, but Merlin imagines he can feel the quiet amusement rolling off him in waves. 

“I’ve been trained to joust since birth,” Arthur points out; as he’s wont to do and Merlin has to fight to keep from laughing at the suspicious look in his eyes. 

“Who’s the knight you’ll be jousting against?” Leon asks and Arthur breaks his stare with Merlin to look at him. 

“Sir Lamorak, one of the knights of Elena’s guard.” 

Leon nods thoughtfully and looks past them at the arena. At the other side, a knight in a blue tunic with a white and yellow crest on the chest is mounting his horse. He looks back at Arthur. “I’ve heard he’s a good, worshipful knight.” 

Arthur nods. “Of course.” 

He doesn’t look nervous or anxious, Merlin thinks, but Arthur never does when he has a weapon in his hands. Arthur sighs and his gauntlet catches the glint of the sun when he pushes the visor of his shield down. Merlin holds the lance up and Arthur takes it. The gauntlet makes a slight grinding noise and Merlin quickly casts his eyes up, but there is no speck of rust to be found. Merlin should know, because he scrubs at that armour religiously. 

He clears his throat and offers: “Good luck.” 

Arthur simply nods this time and puts his heels into his horse’s flank to urge him into a slight trot to the line. Merlin grabs a second lance and follows to the edge of arena. He hears Leon follow him and they stand there, side by side. Merlin holds his breath and looks at the shields used to keep score on the wooden board. The first three bouts have been decided and two shields of Camelot, one representing Lancelot and the other representing Percival, have advanced along with the blue and purple one belonging to Leon’s house. The final bout of the day is Arthur’s and four others will be held tomorrow. He looks back to the arena and sees the moment the flag goes down and both horses are urged to charge. 

There’s a loud crash of wood on metal and lance-shards fly in the air. Merlin can see Arthur turn his head away, but it’s only his head and not his whole body that’s hanging back in the saddle. His shield arm lowers when the blue knight is behind him and the movement seems fluid and easy so Merlin knows that the blow wasn’t too hard. The blue knight doesn’t seem worse for wear either. It was just a practice round; a light blow so they can have time to study the way the other sits his horse, holds his lance, uses his shield and adjusts his speed. 

They turn their horses and pass each other without any incident and Arthur trades the lance he’s holding with the one Merlin offers him. The lance is not totally destroyed, but it is damaged enough to warrant its replacement. 

“Alright?” Merlin asks. 

“Fine,” Arthur says from behind his helmet and Merlin quickly leaves to set aside the damaged lance and fetch a fresh one. 

He’s back just in time to see Arthur and Lamorak ready themselves. He glances at Leon but there’s nothing to be gained from the knight’s expression. He looks calm and serious, but he’s not frowning so he maybe he isn’t worried. Merlin isn’t worried either. He looks back at the arena. The flag falls and this time the charge is serious. They meet each other halfway and smash together so loudly and heavily that Merlin can’t stop a groan of sympathy from rising in his throat. He sees both Lamorak and Arthur snap back in the saddle. Neither of them are thrown, but it’s clear that the blow was heavy on both sides. Lamorak manages to right himself first and the crowd cheers for him. Arthur rights himself a little while later and reins in his horse abruptly. Both knights turn and head back to their respective ends. But this time, when they pass each other, Lamorak gives Arthur a salute with his shield-arm and Arthur returns it. 

Merlin anxiously approaches the softly trotting horse and takes the remains of his lance from Arthur and offers the replacement lance. Arthur doesn’t reach for it and instead, raises his visor. He takes a few deep breaths and Merlin can feel something anxious curl up inside his belly. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks and hates how worried his voice sounds. 

Arthur shakes his head. “Not really.” But his shield arm is gripping his side and Merlin knows he’s lying. “Just winded.” He takes a deep breath and pushes his visor down again. “Give me the lance.” Merlin complies and his whole body tenses when Arthur turns his horse back to the arena, as if his lungs simply want to hold their breath until it’s over. 

“Arthur’s going to win this,” Merlin says, because Arthur has never lost a joust before. Leon doesn’t say anything and Merlin turns to look at him. “Right?” 

Leon looks at him. “Lamorak is very good at this, from what I can tell. Arthur can do it,” he adds when the look on Merlin’s face changes into alarm. “But it might not be easy.” 

The thunder of horse’s hooves stops Merlin from asking more and instead he looks back to the jousting. Arthur has raised himself in the saddle and his shield arm is lowered. Merlin frowns when he sees Lamorak raise the lance and all the little hairs at the back of his neck rise up a split second before the lance crashes into Arthur. He’s jerked back and for a minute it seems like he’ll be thrown from the saddle. His left leg is forced from the stirrup and Merlin balls his free hand into a fist so hard his nails are cutting into the skin. The whole crowd groans and cries out in dismay, but Arthur manages to hold on to the reins. He hangs precariously for a moment but manages to right himself and his left foot finds the stirrup again. Merlin slowly breathes back out and uncurls his fingers. The crowd cheers again; their crown prince still the favourite to win the tournament. 

When Arthur trots back to them, Merlin rushes forward. “Are you alright?” This time Leon has stepped forward too and is the one to take the remains of Arthur’s lance. Merlin resists the urge to pull Arthur from the saddle and inspect his injuries thoroughly. 

Arthur pushes up his visor and his whole face is pained. He’s gasping for breath and gritting his teeth. “I’m fine.” 

Merlin ignores him and grabs the reins of the horse to lead it a little further away from the arena and hopefully towards Arthur’s tent. “Do you need Gaius?” 

Arthur glares at him and grabs the reins. The horse stops. “I’m fine, Merlin, I don’t need Gaius.” His jaw is still locked and the squinting lines around his eyes speak of pain and injury, but not the deadly kind, so Merlin reluctantly lets go of the reins. “Fetch me another lance, will you.” Merlin nods and quickly does as he’s told. 

When he returns with the lance, Arthur is sitting a little straighter in the saddle and he’s talking to Leon in soft tones. Merlin can hear Arthur’s plaintive tone saying “shouldn’t have left my side open like that” before he stops talking when Merlin comes back in earshot. 

Merlin hands out the lance and doesn’t say anything, but he must look worried because Arthur gives him a look that’s part exasperation and part fond. “Don’t be such a big girl, Merlin.” Merlin knows by now that the ‘girl’ comment is Arthur’s favourite and he uses it as often as he can. It’s less of an insult and more of an endearment by now. Maybe. “Stop fretting so much, I’ll be perfectly fine.” Merlin glares and Arthur pushes down the visor and takes the lance. 

He rides off and charges when the flag falls. Merlin focuses on breathing calmly and ignoring the crazy flutters in his stomach. He’s never seen Arthur lose a joust yet and they all know that it’s because of his skill and not because other knights coddle him. Merlin should have faith in that. The space between the two charging knights grows smaller and smaller. Lamorak is leaning forward in the saddle, lying almost neck to neck with his horse. He’s made himself a small target and his lance guards it like a snake ready to strike. Arthur’s back is straight and he’s angled his shield to protect his torso. His lance-arm is extended in a right line to his elbow, bent in a right angle, aimed at his opponent. 

Merlin’s hands are fidgety and he’s pretty sure he’s never been this nervous before. He desperately wants to grab hold of something, but he doubts Leon would be willing to hold hands with him, so instead he starts yanking at the edges of his neckerchief. 

And then it’s over. 

There’s a big crash and one of the horses screams, but then Lamorak is flying through the air. His shattered lance lands on the ground, completely useless. His horse goes from a charge to a trot and then stops completely. Arthur reins his horse in, raises his broken lance into the air and stops. The crowd sheers; going absolutely mad and Arthur turns his horse, raising his lance even higher into the air and rides past the cheering crowd back to Merlin, who’s cheering and yelling but quickly stops when Arthur might be able to see him. 

Arthur pulls up and Merlin takes the lance with a wide grin on his face. “You did great.” 

Arthur removes his helmet with a grunt and there’s sweat gathered on his face, but on the left there’s some blood and Merlin’s smile dims with worry. Arthur sees it and reaches up with his gauntlet, pulls his hand away and sees the blood. He shakes his head. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” 

“You should have Gaius see to it.” 

Arthur rolls his eyes, but Merlin can tell it’s for show and he’ll relent. “Have Gaius meet me in my tent. I’ll be right there.” 

Merlin grins and hefts the lance a little higher before leaving. He can hear Leon congratulating Arthur behind him and then the cheer of the crowd when Arthur appears on the field again. He lays aside the broken lance and goes to fetch Gaius. He finds the physician in Elyan’s tent, still looking over Elyan’s arm and a frown on his face. Gwen is sitting next to Elyan on the cot and she’s listening intently to Gaius’s quiet instructions. He patiently waits near the opening of the tent until Gaius is done with Elyan. 

“Ah! Merlin, I suspect prince Arthur might be in need of some assistance?” 

“He got hit in the side and on the chest, I think, and he has a head wound. There was blood.” 

“Head wounds always have a lot of blood, but that does not necessarily mean it is a grave injury.” 

Merlin nods. “Right.” 

Gaius looks at him sideways. “The tournament seems to be oddly calm so far. You haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary, have you?” 

Merlin shakes his head. “No, nothing so far.” 

They reach Arthur’s tent and Arthur’s already inside. He’s discarded some of his armour and Merlin goes to help him with the rest. When he finally has the final pieces off and he removes the doublet and the thin tunic underneath, he grimaces when he sees the red of the blow. Arthur’s entire side is red and purple and there’s a gaping wound near his shoulder from where the upper canon of his armour was forced inward, pierced the padding and the tunic and cut into skin. Arthur turns around for Gaius’ inspection and the angry red of his side spreads to the small of his back. 

“Please, have a seat sire. Merlin, fetch some clean water. I need you to clean out the wound.” Merlin quickly fetches the water and when he returns Arthur is sitting on the cot and Gaius has pulled two jars of cream from his satchel. “The blue jar, sire, will help with the bruising and the green one will be good for the wound on your shoulder and prevent infection from sitting in. The cut on your head is nothing serious, but I would advise you not to partake in drink for a while, to be cautious. Ah, Merlin, administer the salve to the wound after you’ve cleaned it out and then bandage it. The cream for the bruises needs some time to settle. It doesn’t need a bandage, just wait a minute or two before putting on a shirt.” 

“Alright.”

Gaius nods and turns back to Arthur. “I’d administer the cream myself. But I’m afraid that this is usually the time when I attend to your father and...” 

He doesn’t finish and Arthur waves his hand to dismiss him. “It’s fine, go and see him Gaius. I’m sure Merlin will provide ... adequate assistance.” 

Merlin grins. “Really?” 

Arthur scowls at him and Gaius simply bows and leaves. Merlin picks up the blue jar. “I’ll do this first, then it can set while I take care of your shoulder.” 

Arthur nods and stands again, when Merlin asks he raises his arms so that Merlin can reach all the bruising. He’s quiet when he carefully applies the cream, his hand sliding over red skin and he startles, pulling away quickly every time Arthur hisses with pain. When he’s done, he motions for Arthur to sit again so he can sit next to him with a cloth dipped in water and clean out both cuts. 

“You did really well today,” Merlin offers to the silence. “Lamorak looked really strong.” 

Arthur nods. “He is. He must be, otherwise he wouldn’t be part of Elena’s guard.” There’s a beat of silence and then. “He almost had me.” 

Merlin nods and reaches for the green jar. “Almost.” 

Arthur lets out a huff of laughter and the muscles underneath Merlin’s fingers relax. 

To Be Continued ...


	6. Chapter 6

Gwaine likes living in Camelot. The people here take every excuse to throw a party. They had a party to welcome Lady Elena to court, they had a party to celebrate the opening of the tournament, they celebrated the first day of the tournament being over and now they were celebrating the end of the second day, as a tribute to the victors of the jousting round. Gwaine can appreciate people knowing how to throw a party. 

He dances with the Lady Elena twice, under the watchful eye of her entourage, their hands brush together and she looks far too amused for a maiden whose toes will be trod on by many a knight this evening. 

“Do you enjoy dancing, Sir Gwaine?” 

“Only when I have to, my lady.” 

She laughs and he’s allowed to leave the dance floor. He sits down at the table with Merlin and Elyan while Elena accepts the invitation of a dance by one of the knights of Carleon, the one who defeated the knight of Ban. Gwaine doesn’t know his name. He grins at Elyan. “I thought you’d be off to the tavern by now, since Elsa is serving tonight and all.” He wiggles his eyebrows. 

Elyan grins. “True, but the ale’s free here, isn’t it?” 

Gwaine grins back and raises his own tankard in salute. “To free ale!” 

“To free ale!” Elyan echoes and empties his drink while Lancelot follows close one table over and eventually the whole hall is shouting “to free ale!”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, but his playful spirit wins out over his disapproval, and he gives Gwaine the look that says ‘I know what you’re doing.’ Gwaine simply shrugs and quietly sips his drink. One of the servant girls quietly drops another load of tankards on their table and Elyan takes the opportunity to give another toast. 

“To you, _Sir_ Gwaine,” Elyan says. “Congratulations on your victory!” The young knight raises his tankard and downs the ale in one fell swoop. 

Gwaine raises his own full tankard and when Elyan leaves to speak to Sir Lamorak, discreetly exchanges it for an empty one. He’s pacing himself for the battle tomorrow, like he’s seen Leon do, but hiding it from the crowd so his opponent will underestimate him in the morning. Although his opponent becomes too busy drowning his sorrows in ale when he sees Arthur and Gwen dancing together. 

“He’s really not coping very well, is he?” Gwaine asks Merlin, because Lancelot’s feelings for Arthur’s girl are all too obvious, no matter how well he tries to hide it. It’s because Lancelot’s one of those men who is unfailingly honest and painfully sincere in everything they do so the lies and the silences are painted on his face. Lancelot pining away for the woman who might one day be his queen is a secret openly known to the knights of Camelot, but carefully hidden from their prince. 

Merlin shakes his head and takes a deep drink of his own ale, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. Gwaine wraps his arm around Merlin’s skinny shoulders and drops his head one of them. He knows well enough what he’s like when drunk and he hides his grin in Merlin’s shoulder. He can feel Merlin tilt sideways until his head is resting on Gwaine’s. 

Merlin hums softly and says, “It must be hard for him, to see someone he loves dancing with someone else.” 

Gwaine looks up briefly and casts his eyes over the crowd. “Maybe.” He looks back to Merlin whose face looks slightly glum. 

Merlin shrugs. “Dancing’s important though, for courting. It’s tricky courting a girl.” He tries to bury his face in the tankard. 

Gwaine snorts. “It’s tricky courting a noble woman when everyone thinks you’re a peasant.” 

Merlin’s head resurfaces with a dark red circle around his chin and mouth and he’s not as drunk as Gwaine thought he was because his eyes are clear and suspicious. “What?” 

Gwaine shrugs and shakes his head. “Nothing.” He’s tempted to lay his head on the table, but thinks that might be overdoing it. He’s just about to subtly put his empty tankard on the far side of the table - so he can switch a full one for it later and pretend he’s been drinking - when Arthur sits down heavily across from him and Merlin. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a wide grin on his face. He’s obviously on the happy side of tipsy. 

“Gwaine, well done. It’s not every day a Knight of Carleon is unhorsed after a single blow.” 

He looks sincerely pleased and Gwaine isn’t used to fighting with someone who takes pride in Gwaine’s accomplishments as well as his own. 

“Well, it’s not every day a knight of Carleon has to go up against me.” 

Arthur laughs, a bit too loud and it’s only then that Gwaine notices there are stress lines around his eyes. Gwaine can tell the exact moment that Merlin notices too because that skinny body goes completely tense. 

Gwaine clears his throat. “You sure you should be drinking that?” He motions to the tankard in Arthur’s hand. “You’re going up against Percival in a lance fight tomorrow. One misstep and he’ll flatten you.” 

Arthur looks over to where Percival is having a quiet, fierce and entirely too serious drinking game with the knight errant he defeated in the joust. Arthur’s clearly calculating his own height and bulk versus that of Percival and eventually puts the tankard down. Merlin giggles, but it sounds a bit odd and Gwaine wonders how many people in this room are actually drunk and how many are just carried away by ambiance and the need to pretend everything is fine in the kingdom. 

He casts his eyes over the room again and decides it’s time to take a stroll among the castle gardens. He clears his throat. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.” 

He doesn’t notice Arthur’s smile slowly dimming, as if his muscles are tired with keeping up the charade and he doesn’t see Merlin moving from his seat to sit next to Arthur. He’s already out the door by then, into the night sky and the lush, green gardens for his own rendezvous. 

“Everything alright?” Merlin asks softly. 

Arthur shrugs and then takes another deep swallow from his tankard. “I spoke to Lord Godwyn today, after the final bout of jousts.” 

Something uncomfortable is crawling around in Merlin’s belly now, because he has a feeling he knows what’s coming. “And?” 

Arthur puts the tankard down, but doesn’t answer and Merlin can see the tell muscles in his jaw where he’s grinding his teeth together. He doesn’t know what to do or say. He looks out over the floor and sees Gwen dancing with Leon, who is towering over her and seems a bit uncomfortable about the height difference. He takes note of several knights still out on the floor. Lancelot is nowhere to be seen even if he was a table over just a little while ago. Sir Cai and Sir Lamorak are talking animatedly with Elyan and two knights of Carleon. Lord Godwyn left the feast right after the meal while Elena stayed for a few dances but seems to have left the celebrations as well. He looks back at Arthur. 

“What did he say?” Merlin asks. 

“He’s been having either lunch or supper every day with my father since he’s arrived, but .... There’s been absolutely no change in his condition,” Arthur says and his voice is rough enough to make Merlin want to reach out and curl himself around those broad shoulders. He doesn’t though, because it’s not what they do. “Gaius joined them sometimes, but he didn’t notice any relevant changes.” Arthur took a deep breath. “Gaius says that he might never recover.” 

It’s odd how the celebrations go on around them at the announcement. The minstrels are still playing, people are still dancing, laughing, eating and drinking. It doesn’t change anything but Merlin feels like the room should have gone deathly silent at the announcement. Arthur doesn’t look up from the table. He doesn’t even move and for the first time, Merlin is at a complete loss of what to say to him. 

“Never?” he asks eventually. 

Arthur shrugs. “Gaius says that he isn’t sure, that he can’t be sure either way.” He stops and takes another drink. “But all evidence seems to suggest that he will never recover.” 

Merlin has never wanted to hug Arthur more than he has at this moment. He remembers losing his own father, choking on his screams and tears and wishing someone would hold him. Arthur isn’t crying, but his eyes and cheeks are red. Anyone else would just assume he’d drunk too much. He shifts closer and adopting the guise of drunkenness everyone is favouring tonight, he drops his head on Arthur’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers. 

Arthur shrugs, but not enough to dislodge Merlin. 

“I should have known, really,” Arthur says softly. “I should have known he wouldn’t recover from this, from her.” He sniffles a little and Merlin pretends not to hear.

“Have you told anyone yet?” 

Arthur shakes his head and his hair brushes past Merlin’s own. “I don’t know what to tell them. The council’s already being a giant pain. The knights will be respectfully mournful, so will the people of Camelot, while some of them will celebrate in secret and wait for his death.” 

It hasn’t occurred to Merlin before that it might be difficult for Arthur to know that his father is hated, feared and loved in equal measure. 

“Your father,” Merlin begins and doesn’t really know how to end. Arthur shifts slightly closer and Merlin takes a deep breath. “He was a good father?” 

He’s never really known Arthur speak about his childhood, about his feelings for his father. He’s seen Arthur and Uther at odds and in agreement. He’s seen Arthur perform miraculous and neck-breaking feats in an effort to please his father. He’s seen them tense and uncomfortable around each other, but he’s also seen them playful and teasing. He doesn’t always know what to make of it. 

Arthur nods. “He taught me how to hold a sword, shoot a bow, hunt and fight. He taught me everything I needed to know. It was ....” He blinks and straightens, shakes his head and Merlin moves away. Arthur scrubs a hand over his eyes and sighs. “I’ve drunk too much.” 

“Do you need help getting to your room?” Merlin asks. 

Arthur shakes his head. “I dismissed your services for the evening.” 

Merlin shrugs. “It’s no problem.” 

Arthur eyes him suspiciously, like he does every time people offer an un-asked-for kindness. He simply shakes his head and stands. “I should say goodnight to Gwen.” He stands and smiles; looking exactly like he did a few minutes ago; happy and flushed with drink. He claps Merlin on the shoulder and then walks into the crowd, carefully making his way over to Gwen. They talk briefly and when Arthur heads for the door, Merlin does too. 

Arthur glares at him. “I thought I told you your services are not required.” 

Merlin shrugs. “I don’t mind.” 

Arthur pretends not to pout and says. “I won’t pay you for those hours.” 

Merlin shrugs. “You don’t pay me enough for what I have to put with anyway.” 

Arthur just scowls at him, but their shoulders bump together when they head up the stairs. They’re quiet all the way to Arthur’s room where Merlin quickly sets about lighting the candles. Arthur sort of plops down in his favourite chair and Merlin busies himself pretending to sort out the bed sheets. 

“Did you ever want any siblings, Merlin?” 

The question catches Merlin off guard. He’d expected silence or perhaps a quiet story of Uther and a young Arthur, but not this. 

He shrugs. “Not really, my mum had trouble enough feeding me on her own and besides, I had Will. He was like a brother, you know? A really annoying, loud-mouthed, trouble-stirring brother.” 

Arthur chuckles, short but from somewhere deep inside his chest. He’s quiet for a moment and then, “I wanted a brother or a sister for ages. I thought about teaching them everything my father had taught me. I’d protect them from all harm and they’d absolutely worship me.” 

Merlin snorts. “That does sound like you.” 

Arthur picks up a rag left on the table and half-heartedly throws it at him. “When I was about eight, I asked my father if I could have one. I didn’t quite understand that he just couldn’t give me a brother or a sister like he could give me a hound or a horse. He was ... not really angry, but very stern, as always. About three years later, Morgana became the king’s ward.” 

Merlin doesn’t say anything. 

“Morgana,” Arthur says, “didn’t want protecting.” 

To Be Continued ... ¬


	7. Chapter 7

For Merlin, the tournament passes in a blur of anxiety, drink and the elation of victory. After his lance fight with Percival, Arthur is covered in a multitude of shallow cuts. They sting, particularly the one on his cheek, the swipe that nearly took out his eye, and Arthur curses, but all in all he’s better off than Sir Cai who came close to losing his arm in his lance fight against the remaining knight errant. Leon is almost skewered and while the fight between Gwaine and Lancelot seems more relaxed, Gwaine’s left shoulder takes a direct hit and a piercing wound before he manages to disarm Lancelot and hold him to the ground. The free combat round, where everyone gets to pick and choose their own weapons is even worse. 

Arthur is set to fight against the last remaining knight errant. There are rumours whispered behind the curtains of the court that he’s a Saracen, a heretic from the east and the sword he brings to the arena is one that Merlin has never seen before. It’s long and with a deep curve, in the shape of a half-moon and Merlin bites his nails to the quick when he remembers how this knight had nearly killed Sir Cai with a spear. Imagine what he could do with a sword like that? When Arthur steps into the arena with nothing but a quarterstaff Merlin dearly wishes that he’d kept nagging Arthur until Arthur had told him his weapon of choice instead of allowing the dollophead to be all secretive. 

It’s only when the fight truly begins that Merlin realizes that the quarterstaff might not have been such a poor choice. Arthur is competent with the weapon, of course, and it gives him the same range as a spear. It has a round, blunt edge; you cannot cut or stab with a staff, but it’s heavier than a sword or a spear and because Arthur can swing it with ease, the impact will feel like getting hit with an anvil. He manages to keep the wicked, curved blade of his opponent at a distance; catching the oncoming cut on the staff and nimbly redirecting its momentum to the side. He plays a game of evading his opponent and keeps on the defence. The crowd seems to love it and Merlin knows that the staff was chosen both for effectiveness and showmanship. 

The knight errant, though, is no fool. He retreats, slowly circling Arthur and giving short, quick stabs and high, downward arches, trying to find a weakness in Arthur’s technique, studying and waiting. The quarterstaff has a long reach and a heavy impact, but it’s unwieldy and cannot change direction fast once it has gained momentum. While it comes up to block what seems be a downward stroke of the blade, the knight errant turns, quick as a snake, and its only Arthur’s own quick reflexes making him jerk back that saves him from getting a sword in his belly. As it is, the sword barely scrapes against Arthur’s chainmail and he dances away, unhurt. 

Merlin is holding his breath and squeezing Gwen’s hand so hard he might break a bone, but she doesn’t seem to notice, her own fingers like a crushing death grip. The crowd gasps and Merlin tugs at his bottom lip with his upper teeth. He can’t take his eyes of the arena, not even to gauge Leon’s reaction. The two knights in the arena circle each other warily and Merlin desperately wants to help, wants to do something. His magic is thrumming in his veins and beating against the cage of his skin to get out, to help, to protect, but he ruthlessly reigns in it. 

Arthur slowly ventures away from his defensive tactic. He keeps up the endless blocks, creating a wall the length of his staff around him that the sword cannot penetrate, but he begins taking up his own attacks. The curved blade is not as firm as the staff and can’t block Arthur’s attacks as efficiently. The foreign knight is forced to retreat and move out of harm’s way instead of being able to stand his ground. Arthur’s attacks gain momentum and they come faster and faster. The crowd marvels at Arthur’s endurance and strength to swing the heavy staff again and again. The foreign knight’s graceful retreat becomes more of a stumble as he desperately tries to keep out of Arthur’s reach. 

Eventually, the fight ends with Arthur, tired and covered in dust, swinging his staff downwards in a quick high arch and breaking his opponent’s sword arm. The momentum bears the staff downward until it taps the ground and Arthur wrenches it upwards again, hits the knight in the face and breaks his nose. Blood spouts out from the injury, covering the arena. The knight falls forward on his knees and when the momentum of the upwards swing ends in a high arch, Arthur brings it down again to the back of his head and the knight collapses face-first into the dust. All in all, the blows of victory didn’t last more than forty seconds. The crowd cheers and yells and Merlin can finally breathe again. Gwen slowly lets go of his hand.

Arthur waves at the crowd while servants quickly rush in to collect the unconscious opponent. The crowd cheers and roars and Arthur smiles broadly, pumping his fist in the air and leaving the arena. He’s limping slightly and Merlin realizes that the curved blade must have nicked the back of his thigh. Gwen and Merlin follow him and Merlin helps him out of his armour. Merlin was right, the back of Arthur’s trousers are blood-stained. The stain is small though, so no major artery was cut. Otherwise, Arthur probably would have bled out by now. 

“Arthur, you were amazing,” Gwen says, eyes bright and smiling. 

Arthur looks slightly uncomfortable with the praise, genuine as it is and Merlin gently prods around the wound to gauge its depth. Arthur hisses and Gwen switches from elated to worried. He waves her off. “It’s just a small cut, don’t worry.” 

Her hands flutter over his shoulders. “Should I get Gaius?” 

Arthur shakes his head. “Kaliraj the Saracen has far greater injuries.” 

“Injuries you inflicted on him,” Merlin mutters and Arthur gives him a small kick and his heel catches Merlin’s shoulders. “Oof!” 

“ _Mer_ lin can take care of it,” Arthur reassures her. 

Gwen hesitates. “Are you sure?” 

Merlin leans sideways so he can look at her from behind Arthur’s legs. “You don’t think I can take care of a simple cut?” 

She blushes. “That’s not what I’m saying. You sure it’s just a simple cut?” 

Merlin nods. “There’s not too much blood, some salve and some bandages and he’ll be right as rain.” 

Arthur smiles again, reassuring and lays a hand on her shoulders. “See, I’ll be fine, Gwen. I’ve been fighting in tournaments for years. I’ve been hurt worse than this.” 

She looks sad when he says it. “I know. I just don’t like seeing you hurt.” 

Arthur’s smile broadens. “I know.” He gently squeezes her shoulder. “Now, could you ....” He motions at the opening of the tent and Gwen frowns. Arthur clears his throat. “I have to ... take my trousers off.” 

“Oh... OH!” Gwen flushes and nods. “Right, of course, I’ll just....” She makes an odd, waving gesture with her hand. “... Go.” She nearly stumbles out the door, clearly embarrassed and Merlin is very careful not to say anything for the strained ten minutes after she’s gone. He simply gets up and closes the tent opening, pulling the two flaps of fabric together and tying them securely. Behind him, he can hear Arthur struggling out of his trousers. 

“Do you need help with that?” Merlin asks. 

Arthur glowers at him. “I can manage. Just bandage the wound.” 

Merlin takes some of the ointment Gaius had left for him and quickly dresses and bandages the injury. He gives Arthur one of the potions against the pain and then helps him into a fresh pair of trousers and a new shirt. The small cuts that litter his chest have al scabbed over and so has the one on his cheek. The bruising from the jousting round has faded to a sickly yellow. Merlin tries not to look and count the many times that Arthur has gotten hurt this week, but he does anyway. 

“Gwaine and Leon are next.” Arthur remarks, shrugging into his jacket. 

“Do you know what weapon Leon is fighting with?” Merlin asks, loosening the ties and stepping out of the tent while holding one of the flaps open for Arthur. 

The grin on Arthur’s face is fiercely gleeful. “You’ll just have to wait and see. But I’ll tell you, I wouldn’t want to be in Gwaine’s boots right now.” 

By the time they make it back to the arena the roar of the crowd has made it clear that the second battle is already going on. Arthur claps Merlin on the back and makes his way to the raised dais and takes a seat next to Lady Elena, who is watching the fight with a frown of concentration creasing her brow. Merlin doesn’t bother trying to find a seat in the stands and instead goes to stand at the edge of the arena and then he wishes he could have stayed in the tent a little longer. 

He arrives just in time to see Gwaine duck out of the way while Leon’s battle-axe thumps into the space where Gwaine’s head used to be. Leon easily pulls the axe free from where the force of his blow buried it in the wood of the stands and quickly turns and jumps back to avoid getting hit with the downward swing of Gwaine’s Morningstar. Merlin really doesn’t know why some people insist on getting close to accidentally killing each other. 

Leon is dressed in the colours of his house; a tunic of light blue and purple with his family’s shield carefully embroidered on the front. The crest is red with an intricate design in silver and a black, upside down triangle at the top. Gwaine is dressed in the colours of Camelot: a red tunic with a golden dragon. Their armour is the kind that Merlin sees Arthur wear all the time and it seems too little and so flimsy when confronted with the kinds of weapon that both men are wielding. He watches the battle carefully, worrying at the skin of his thumb with his teeth when a flash of light blue distracts him. He squints his eyes and ... Gwaine is wearing a lady’s favour; a ribbon braided into the chainmail of his right arm, his sword arm. 

The revelation only manages to occupy his thoughts for a moment because at that exact time, Leon manages to hit Gwaine in the stomach and Merlin can feel the butterflies of panic dancing in a frenzy until he realizes that Leon hit him with the non-lethal side of the one-sided axe. He takes a deep breath of relief, even as Gwaine staggers underneath the blow and twists his hand to whip the Morningstar into the air and catches Leon square in the face. The butterflies dance in Merlin’s belly dance again; what if they accidentally kill each other? 

Leon staggers back, but the blow seems to have been a mild one. The spikes on the Morningstar have left cuts on his face and the blood is dripping into his beard. But the blow hit him on the cheek and there is no damage to his eye and there appear to be no fractures or brain damage. Merlin has seen men stagger and fall and drop dead after a blow to the temple, with their eyes gauged out and blood streaming from their ears. Leon seems to be fine though, if a little dazed. Both men have stepped back, are breathing heavily and observing each other warily, but they seem to be relatively uninjured. 

Gwaine is the first to strike out again, reckless Gwaine, and steps forward, swinging the Morningstar. Leon evades easily and steps back again when Gwaine easily and immediately has the Morningstar adjust its trajectory to follow Leon’s movements. The Morningstar is a very good long-range weapon, but easy for the opponent to manipulate. Leon ducks to the side and jumps forward when the Morningstar hits the wooden wall of the arena and grabs at the chain to yank Gwaine forward. He stumbles and nearly pitches face-first into the blow of the axe, but manages to twist his body so he falls to the ground instead and scrambles away in time. He holds on to the handle of the Morningstar and pulls, causing Leon to nearly get hit in the back of the head by the ball of spikes at the end of the chain. Leon’s quick though and has seen moves like this in previous tournaments. The minute Gwaine fell to the ground he moved sideways and away, out of range. 

The cheers of the crowd don’t seem to distract either knight, as focused as they are. They circle each other warily and Leon is very careful to stay out of reach of the Morningstar. His own weapon though, is a close range weapon and staying out of range means that he won’t be able to attack. But then he strikes. It seems like a reckless move, deliberately stepping into range, but then once he’s in the realm of the chain and beyond the strikes of the ball, it’s easier. After all, a chain cannot be shortened in battle and doing it manually requires the use of both hands. Leon is fast with an axe and easily, nimbly, throws the axe from one hand to another, left and right, whenever he needs it. With the free hand, he grips at the chain, tugging Gwaine repeatedly off balance until Gwaine is tense, instinctively watching his footing and making sure he doesn’t stumble. Leon switches the axe from his right to his left hand, grasps the chain, but does not tug. Gwaine’s attention shifts to his feet. He hasn’t yet noticed that there is _no_ force pulling at him and reacts too late when Leon’s left arm swings at him and the axe buries itself into the chainmail of his side. Gwaine falls and the whole crowd goes absolutely mental. Gwaine does not get up again. 

Merlin holds his breath, waits for Gwaine to scramble up. Leon has stepped back, giving his opponent a chance to recover, but Gwaine simply lets go of his weapon and sits up, grimacing, his hand reaching for his blood-stained chainmail. Leon watches him carefully. 

“Do you yield?” 

Gwaine lets out a painful huff of laughter. His hair is sticking to his face, wet with sweat. “I yield.” 

The crowd cheers and Leon drops his weapon. He gives a brief wave and then carefully grasps Gwaine’s hand and pulls him up. He pulls the hand forward until Gwaine’s arm is wrapped around his shoulders. By then Merlin has run unto the field and has taken Gwaine’s other arm around his shoulders. Together they help Gwaine off the field and stumble towards his tournament tent. The cheers of the crowd behind them are ringing in their ears. 

“That was a good fight.” Gwaine pants out. His voice is strained with pain and Merlin is worried, so worried. If he’d known that life in Camelot would have been so worrisome, he might have just stayed in Ealdor altogether. 

“It sure was,” Leon says. “No one fights quite like you do.” 

Gwaine hacks out a coughing laugh. “How’s your head?” 

Leon laughs too and shoulders open Gwaine’s tent. They carefully deposit Gwaine unto the cot and a young man, almost still a boy, appears in the opening. He quickly kneels beside Gwaine and starts undoing the latches of his armour. 

“Terence,” Gwaine pants, “could you maybe try not to look like I’m dying.” 

Merlin doesn’t hear the reply because he’s already run out to fetch Gaius. When he comes back with the older man in tow, Gwaine’s naked from the waist up. Terence, Gwaine’s squire, is still looking anxious and is scrubbing some of Gwaine’s chainmail with a rag. Merlin recognizes that kind of scrubbing. He’s done it himself hundreds of times when Arthur’s been wounded and looked like he might die and Merlin had nothing to do, nothing to keep his hands busy, except scrubbing at armour. 

The blow of the axe had been so powerful that it had tore through the chainmail and the padding underneath. There is an ugly looking cut stretching across Gwaine side and the blood is dark, but sluggish instead of gushing. The skin around it looks red and raw and will bruise like something out of a horror story. Gwaine’s breathing is shallow and hitches when Gaius carefully touches the injury. 

“It seems that your ribs are cracked.” Gaius says. “I’ll have to treat the cut and then tape your torso to prevent your ribs from breaking further.” 

“See, Terence, you’re not rid of me yet.” Gwaine says. He grins at Leon. “It’ll take more than a blow from this old man to end me.” 

Leon raises his eyebrows. “I’m only two years older than you.” 

Gwaine grins, hiding a wince and a grimace, when Gaius cleans the cut. “Two years can make all the difference.” 

Leon nods at the wound. “It would seem so.” 

Gwaine snorts. “You just got lucky.” 

Leon just smirks. “I’ll be sure to tell you that in two years time.” 

Gwaine grins and then makes a face when Gaius gives him something to drink against the pain. “I’d rather suffer the pain, I think.” 

Gaius looks completely unimpressed. “I think you’ll change your mind quick enough.” He holds out the potion again and Gwaine reluctantly takes it, swallows it all one go. Merlin has to help Gaius wrap Gwaine’s torso and from the pain-filled expression on his friend’s face, Merlin knows that Gwaine will be glad of some relief quick enough. “You won’t have to wear the wrap for very long, a week or so.” Gaius says and then quietly leaves them to it. 

Leon seems intent to stay but Gwaine waves him off so he can go and enjoy his victory. Leon hesitates, but then he leaves as well. 

“Terence, you’re going to bloody your hands if you keep scrubbing like that,” Gwaine says. “Go fetch my Morningstar from the arena, will you. My handlers forgot to take it with them.” The young, terrified-looking lad quickly leaves, pale-faced and sickly. He might go to retch behind the tents first, Merlin thinks. Gwaine grins. “He doesn’t really have the stomach for combat. He wants to be a poet or something, but he’s the oldest son of his house, so knighthood it must be.” 

Gwaine slowly starts to heave himself up in a sitting position. Merlin quickly goes to help him, afraid that he’ll injure himself. “I think you’re supposed to be lying down.” Merlin says. 

“I’ll lie down in a minute. Give me my chainmail, would you?” Gwaine asks when he’s finally upright. His breathing is laboured and the pain medicine must not have started working yet because his whole body is tense. 

Merlin hauls the chainmail from the ground, bloody and broken and heavy as it is, and deposits it on Gwaine’s lap. He watches as Gwaine carefully shifts the mail until he finds his right arm sleeve. The blue ribbon is still braided into the mail, clean and blood free. Merlin watches as Gwaine picks at the knots with his nails and carefully pulls the ribbon free. It’s a broad, silky thing, crumpled and wrinkled in the places where it was knotted. Gwaine smoothes it out between his fingers, a look on his face Merlin has never seen before. Gwaine simply shoves the chainmail from his lap to the ground and attempts to the tie the ribbon around his wrist. 

Merlin reaches out to help and knots it carefully. When he’s done, Gwaine touches it slightly with the fingers of his other hand; a look of beyond tender hidden behind the fall of his hair. Merlin softly pushes Gwaine down to lie on his back. Gwaine complies. His eyes are drooping; his energy completely gone now that he’s retrieved the ribbon. 

“I think I’ll take a nap now,” he says, almost slurring his words. The pain medicine must be kicking in. 

Merlin watches Gwaine rub his wrist against the cot beneath him, the silk ribbon trapped between the mattress and human flesh, rubbing against Gwaine’s skin. 

“Who’s it from?” Merlin asks, softly, because this is a side of Gwaine he’s never, ever seen. 

Gwaine looks at him from half-lidded eyes. “Can’t tell,” he mumbles. 

Merlin frowns down at him. “Is this what you meant, when you said it was tricky to court a noblewoman when everyone thinks you’re a peasant?” 

Gwaine grins, his I-am-drunk grin, but doesn’t say anything, although Merlin can hear him mumbling faintly before he drops off into sleep completely. “Not the noblewoman I expected.” 

To Be Continued


	8. Chapter 8

The final fight is between Leon and Arthur. It’s a sword fight and Merlin had hoped that it wouldn’t be quite as horrifying as the previous round. He was wrong of course. Leon, with his left jaw covered in bruises and cuts, looks absolutely terrifying when his sword nearly takes off Arthur’s head. Arthur blocks the swing just in the time and Gwen makes an odd sound in the back off her throat. Merlin knows she must be as grateful as he is that this is the last battle of the tournament. They’ve sat together through all the battles and each match is as maddeningly worrisome as the previous one. But at the same time, Merlin is a little sorry for the end; the end of the exhilarating victories, the frenzied partying and drinking, the end of this temporary feast before normal life and worries far darker and dangerous creep up on them. 

Leon and Arthur are about evenly matched. Years of training together has let them grow accustomed to each other’s styles and moves. It’s like an old, familiar dance at this point as they both give and take ground, attack and defend, swing and block in their own rhythm. Leon pushes forward; his swing a high arc cutting through the air and Arthur blocks, adjusts his grip to stab straight forward and Leon curves his blade over Arthur’s to block it while simultaneously jerking his torso backwards. Arthur presses forward again, this time knocking aside Leon’s sword and aiming at his side, but Leon blocks the blow with the edge of the vambrace on his left arm. There’s a horrible screeching sound as Arthur’s sword scrapes against the steel, but then both men back off and circle each other. Arthur’s smiling while Leon looks serious, but there’s a muscle pulling at the left corner of his mouth. He can hear Gwen muttering beside him “such boys!”

They both attack at the same time, as if following a signal only the two of them can hear. The clash of their blades rings out sharply and then they’re back in their dance. They traverse the whole of the arena as they fight; pressing each other back against the wood of the stands and making narrow escapes. It’s a good fight for the final, Merlin thinks, watching with baited breath to see who will win. The excitement of the crowd is almost a physical thing by now, something Merlin could reach out and touch if he wanted to. He casts his eye out over the crowd and sees Elyan sitting next to Percival, Lancelot and Gwaine near the raised dais on which Lord Godwyn and Elena are sitting. Some of the others who have participated in the tournament are sitting on the other side of the dais; Carew and Marcus of Carleon, Amadis de Gaule the errant knight and Bertram of Ban. Sir Cai and Sir Lamorak are both sitting behind the row of other knights, higher up on the stands. Kalijar the Saracen is still recovering from his injuries, as are Pellas of Carleon and Benjamin the knight errant. 

A collective “oh!” from the crowd makes him snap his neck back in time to see Arthur, lying with his back on the sandy ground, his sword just out of reach, hook his left foot over Leon’s right foot and yank his knee upward, effectively tumbling Leon to the ground. They both roll over, grasp their swords and scramble back to their feet. The crowd gives a great cheer and Merlin sighs deeply with relief. This time though, Arthur doesn’t back down for any kind of respite. He immediately jumps in, his sword raised high enough for a strong, downward blow that Leon can only block just in time. Because, it is Arthur, of course it’s Arthur, Merlin thinks, who is just a little bit faster; a little bit stronger; a little bit more inventive. He ducks to one side, almost throwing himself to the ground in the process, feinting like he’s trying to trip Leon up with the flat of his blade and instead knocks the sword of out of Leon’s hand when the older knight is rotating his wrist in an effort to block Arthur. The crowd gasps and Arthur calmly holds his sword against Leon’s throat. Leon laughs and there’s no anger or disappointment for losing in his face. 

“I yield.” 

The crowd explodes into cheering and screaming at the words and when Arthur grasps Leon’s forearm and pulls him to his feet, it’s as if the crowd is cheering for both of them. Arthur raises his arms to accept the cheers and Leon gracefully bows out of the arena. Merlin is clapping so hard his hands are hurting and he can hear Gwen cheering next to him. Someone starts a chant of “Arthur!” and others are soon to follow. The whole crowd goes mad and Merlin can feel the excitement boil over in the air. It rises up in a roar of sound until it breaks up into one final shout as Arthur leaves the arena. The chatter that follows is significantly quieter as the crowd disperses; some people heading for home, but most of them to taverns and ins. Gwen and Merlin make their way to the tents and pass a man carrying a young child on his shoulders. 

Gwen laughs. “They were amazing.” 

Merlin curls his arm around hers and tugs her gently out of the way before she can be trampled by two boys roughhousing. “Who?” 

She laughs again. “All of them, but especially Arthur. I’m both glad and sad that it’s over.” 

Merlin grins. “I know.” 

He waits outside the tent while Gwen goes in and speaks to Arthur. He listens as Arthur tries to offer her the favour back, but she insists that he keeps the ribbon. There’s silence then and he can _feel_ his ears burn an alarming shade of red at the realisation that they must be kissing. He feels like he should leave, but Arthur will need him to help him out of his armour. So, he stays, ears burning and feeling like maybe he should clear his throat loudly, or cough, or do _something_ to remind them that he’s standing right outside. He doesn’t have to though, because Gwen comes out not too long after that, a broad smile on her face. He quickly ducks inside and it’s a whole whirlwind of activity after that. 

He helps Arthur take off his armour and takes it to the armoury while Arthur goes up to his chambers. A bath will have been prepared for him by one of the temporary workers. Merlin scrubs and cleans the armour as quickly as he can, he’ll give it a more thorough cleaning later, and then heads up to Arthur’s rooms. He selects trousers, shirts and a jacket of high quality fabrics and helps Arthur put them on. By the time Arthur has forced Merlin into his livery and The Hat, they have to hurry to be on time for the feast. 

“I want to thank you all for coming tonight. The tournament in honour of Lord Godwyn and his daughter, Lady Elena, has seen some of the most courageous and daring duels Camelot has ever seen. I wish to honour all the knights who participated and brought glory and worship to their houses. Camelot is indeed honoured to have hosted this tournament.” Arthur raises his cup and the hall follows him. Merlin thinks he did alright in refraining from toasting to himself, who was after all the victor of the tournament. 

“I would like to raise a toast!” Elena’s voice is loud and clear and manages to catch most of the people at the feast of guard. “To the knights who fought bravely in the tournament and to prince Arthur, the champion of Camelot!” 

There’s a roar of approval and everyone raises their glasses. Arthur’s grinning; the wide and helpless kind of grin he tries to hide by staring at his plate. Merlin smiles at the sight and there’s a curl of happiness lying warm in his stomach at the sight of everyone so cheerful and giddy. There is wine and food enough for everyone; jugs upon jugs of crimson red wine and a stag roasted over a spitfire, apples baked hot and sweet in the oven, baskets of buns and platters of butter, birds stuffed with greens and carrots made soft in the heat of the stove, meatpies and crisp lemon cakes and bowls of mashed potatoes. There’s strong, brown ale as well, dispersed freely in large tankards and it only fuels the laughter and loud chatter filling up the hall. 

They manage to uphold decorum and propriety for several hours. But long after Lord Godwyn has gone to bed and after Lady Elena bows out of the room, the whole hall seems to erupt in a display of exhilaration like Merlin has never seen before. The people of high birth dance with the servants and the wine is freely shared. Merlin shares cups with Gwaine and Leon and watches Gwen and Arthur dance. Elyan is dancing with a girl whose black hair shines in the candlelight and Lancelot is giggling to himself in a corner somewhere, with Percival keeping a worried eye out for him. Gwaine pounds on his back, shouting, “you people know how to throw a party!” and laughs like a madman. He’s wearing Merlin’s Hat and plucked out some of the feathers to braid them into Leon’s hair. Leon doesn’t seem bothered, but Lancelot keeps giggling helplessly every time he looks at the blue, red and green monstrosities peeking out at the back of Leon’s head. 

Arthur returns to the table and after one look says: “it’d be a shame if your hat was destroyed beyond repair.” 

Merlin shrugs, secretly hoping just that. Gwaine however, leans forward and plucks another feather from the hat. “I’m sure you can have a new one made.” He grins and starts to rearrange the leftovers on his plate, sticking the feather in the middle, until it looks like a bizarre, one-feathered peacock. He rips out three more to add to the dish to create the illusion of a fanned out tail. Lancelot follows his example, but the picture he’s shaping from left-over food is something else entirely. 

Gwen joins them. “What are you doing!?!” Her cheeks are crimson and Merlin’s turn a burning red as well when they all take a look at the plate. 

Everyone else bursts out laughing and Gwaine hiccups through his laughter, “it’s always the quiet ones!” 

Eventually, the party seems to die down. Some servants are supporting their drunken lords to their beds, others are sprawled and passed out themselves. A few leave in twos: holding hands and giggling. The more sober ones start to clean up the leftovers, dousing the still burning candles and gathering empty cups, effectively forcing the rest of the nobles out without actually saying anything. Arthur tells Gwen he’ll walk her to her house and the rest of the knights all follow him out, laughing and shoving at each other. Merlin has Gwaine’s arm wrapped around him and his spirits are high, not just because of the jug of wine he managed to grab on the way out. 

Once they’re out and walking or swaggering down the streets in the Upper Town they can hear the sounds of loud partying in the distance. They share the jug of wine between them and Merlin ends up depositing the empty jug on a doorstep while the others laugh and egg him on. The Lower Town itself looks like it’s on fire. There are people frying food out on the streets; sharing wine and mead along with bread, meat and whatever else they can fry in a pan. People are milling about everywhere. Several minstrels and musicians are playing; all different tunes and singing different songs, but it sounds better than any of the stuff they play at court, Merlin thinks. It sounds free and boisterous, like the spirit of a party caught in song and strings. Gwaine starts humming tunelessly along. He’s wearing the remains of The Hat and his arms are wrapped around Leon’s shoulders. Leon still has the feathers woven into his hair. 

Merlin laughs. “You look like a pair of drunk jesters!” 

“I could have been a jester!” Gwaine bellows. “I can even stand on my hands! Look!” 

He promptly attempts to do so, but Leon grabs his legs and forces Gwaine to keep walking on his hands so they make a demented wheelbarrow. The Hat falls off and Merlin quickly retrieves it, following after them. The downhill road catches up with them though and Gwaine falls to the road while Leon stumbles over him and falls as well. Merlin can barely keep upright from laughing and puts The Hat back on Gwaine’s head when they get back on their feet. 

Of course, it’s just as loud and wild in Gwen’s street, so they allow the party to swallow them up. When Arthur is recognized, an incredibly gleeful cheer starts up and people come up to pat him on the back and congratulate him. People are toasting him and other knights and Merlin gets swept up in all of it. He doesn’t even notice when Gwaine ducks out and disappears, passing The Hat along to Percival in the process. 

“Where’s Gwaine?” 

Leon shrugs; some of the feathers have been lost in all the partying, but there’s one still trapped behind his ear and another one is threatening to slip down the back of his shirt. “Don’t know.” 

Merlin thinks he must be pouting. He leans against Leon. “Do you know who gave him the favour?” 

Leon shakes his head and is about to say something, but at that moment, Amadis de Gaule, the knight Leon defeated in the first round, appears, sloshing ale over the both of them. Percival’s booming laughter can be heard somewhere to the left of them and when Merlin shouts; “Percival! Your laughter is booming!” it only causes Percival to laugh harder. 

A while later Elyan disappears, holding hands with the black haired girl he was dancing with at the feast. At this point, Lancelot is passed out on a table someone carried out into the street. There’s only one feather left in Leon’s hair, so Merlin picks up a few fallen to the ground and gets Gwen to help him sit Leon down and braid them back in. Arthur is laughing from somewhere deep in his belly at the sight, and slides down against the wall until he’s sitting on the ground, still laughing. Percival comes sailing by; dancing with Amadis de Gaule and The Hat still on his head. Arthur laughs even harder and Merlin is giggling uncontrollably now. Gwen leans her forehead against Leon’s shoulder and shakes. Leon calmly leans his head against hers, causing Merlin to swear as the hair in his hands shifts and he almost drops the garishly green feather. 

Arthur bursts out laughing. “I didn’t know you could swear, Merlin!” 

Merlin colours. “Of course I can swear!” 

Arthur grins. “You call people clotpole and dollophead, you dolt. I assumed you didn’t know any of the dirty words.” 

“Well,” Leon drawls, straightening his head when Merlin yanks on his hair to braid it properly. “He has been hanging around Gwaine a lot.” 

Some of the fires have died down by then and the stars are twinkling merrily overhead. The music is softer now, too, and the people are chatting, some slurring their words. There are bursts of wild and booming laughter and when Merlin looks to the side, Arthur is leaning his head back against the wall behind him. There’s a smile on his face, close-mouthed but wide and his eyes are a burnished blue in the firelight. All the muscles in his shoulders are completely relaxed and he raises one arm when Gwen stumbles over to cuddle up to him at his side. They look happy and carefree and so content that Merlin wants to crawl and burrow himself into Arthur’s other side, but he doesn’t and instead turns back to Leon, who is leaning back against him with his eyes closed, humming under his breath. 

Lancelot and Percival leave not long after that; Percival carrying Lancelot like a bride in his arms because Lancelot is passed out with drink. They all wave him goodbye and Amadis stumbles after them; his red hair glinting in the firelight. The Hat is now resting on Amadis’ head and Merlin hopes it will get lost somewhere on the way to the Citadel and he never has to see it again. His memory grows fuzzy after that. He can only vaguely remember Arthur getting up to escort Gwen to her home and Leon asking him if he needs help getting back to the Citadel. Merlin waves him off, but changes his mind a few minutes later when the world around him starts tilting dangerously. He doesn’t even notice that he’s vomiting on Leon’s boots and that the older knight is dragging him home, because he’s already passed out by then. 

Of course, that doesn’t answer the question of why Merlin is in his night shirt, with no trousers, in the middle of the forest. He looks around groggily and sees a horse with a brown coat grazing not too far off. The saddle has slipped to the horse’s flank and Merlin recognizes the mare as belonging to Arthur. He’s cleaned out her stable and borrowed her often enough to recognize her by now. He groans and turns his face into the grass, his head is killing him, there’s the taste of old socks in his mouth and he wishes he could just stumble out of bed and ask for Gaius’ hangover cure. But he can’t, because he’s in the middle of the forest with no trousers. 

“You’re awake!” The voice makes him flinch and scramble up quickly. He blinks confusedly into the morning light while he staggers back, hoping he’s in a fit enough to state to run away if it’s someone out to kill or rob him. The dangerous gurgling of his stomach tells him that running is a bad idea, so he heaves a sigh of relief when he sees it’s only Gwaine. The other man looks disgustingly awake and coherent, a broad grin on his face. He’s dressed in a black shirt and brown trousers and is holding a second pair in his left hand, the reins of his own horse in the right. “Looks like you could use one of these.” He throws the trousers at Merlin and they smack him in the face. 

“Grnf!” He puts them on as fast as his tired and muffled brain can manage; missing each trouser leg several times before he manages to pull them up to his waist with a little shimmy. “What,” he clears his throat, “happened?” 

Gwaine grins. “Well, after you puked on Leon’s boots and passed out, our dear friend put you in bed, without waking Gaius. Apparently, you woke up a few hours later and stumbled out in nothing but your smallclothes and your nightshirt. I was coming back from the gardens when I saw you go into the stables. You said you wanted to visit your mother in Ealdor. I couldn’t convince you not to and you were putting up a fuss, so I just let you go, went to gather some trousers and decided to catch up with you. About an hour after you left Camelot, you passed out in the saddle, it slipped sideways and you fell off. So here were are now.” 

Merlin groans. “Did anyone else see me?” 

Gwaine shrugs. “I don’t think so. Even if they did no one would be surprised after that time in Aeth-”

“YES!” Merlin shouts, cutting him off. “Thank you, Gwaine.” 

Gwaine grins and Merlin groans. “Can we just go now?” 

“Of course,” Gwaine says, with the air of someone doing Merlin a huge favour. “I’m just curious where this habit of dropping your trousers is coming from.” 

Merlin groans and quickly stumbles to the horse grazing on the side. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?” 

Gwaine laughs. “Ah, Merlin, what are friends for, if not to mock you endlessly?” 

To Be Continued


	9. Chapter 9

It’s almost noon by the time they reach Camelot and Merlin reckons that he’ll only get a boot or a cup thrown at his head for showing up in his night shirt and a pair of trousers Merlin clearly can’t afford. Not to mention he’ll have to explain what happened and Merlin would really rather not. Instead he quickly goes for a wash and some fresh clothes and cajoles Gaius until the old physician gives him a small dose of the hang over cure with the eyebrow of disapproval on his face. There’s no helping it though, because Merlin feels like his brain could turn to mush under the force of the hammer inside his head and then it might start trickling out of his ears and he really _will_ have a mental affliction. Gaius does not look impressed when he says this. 

He decides to escape Gaius’ disapproval by returning to his duties. Either Arthur will be completely unbearable with a hangover or he’ll already be tending to his own duties. Either way, Merlin decides the safest thing for now would be to stay out of the way. He decides to make his way to the armoury and passes many servants looking sick, hung over, or slightly put out. He sees Leon’s page (or is it squire? He still doesn’t know the difference between the two) coming, carrying a pair of boots covered in sick and he quickly ducks into a shadowy doorway. Once he reaches the armoury, he sits down to work on Arthur’s armour. He checks for any kinks in the mail and scrubs away the blood to check for rust. The plate is given a good scrubbing as well. There aren’t any dents or scratches that need repair, so he simply scrubs at it until it shines. He quickly goes over several of Arthur’s swords, although Arthur’s favourite will be hanging on his belt by now. 

He’s done about the same time that other squires and pages start filling the armoury, needing to tend to the armour of their knights. He leaves the sound of clanging steel behind him. He might as well go up to Arthur’s room, make the bed, collect any dirty laundry, clear away the remains of breakfast, and maybe even lunch, and see if Arthur’s left a list of duties behind for him. Along the way to Arthur’s room he bumps into Leon, looking slightly pale and wan. 

“Leon!” The man winces at the sound of Merlin’s voice, so Merlin makes a conscious effort to speak more softly. “How are you?” 

The older knight shrugs. “Alright, I suppose.”

Gwaine appears from nowhere, as if he’s lurking in hallways for opportunities just like this. “He woke up on the stone battlements alongside the South Wall. No idea how he got there. Feathers in his hair, sick on his boots.” 

Leon’s head jerks, as if he was tempted to hang it in defeat and changed his mind at the very last moment. 

Merlin bites his lip. “The sick was mine.” 

Gwaine grins. “So were the feathers.” 

Leon shrugs, as if he doesn’t mind being covered in sick and garish feathers. “I know _that_. I just can’t remember getting to the South Wall.” 

“Meeting a girl there?” Gwaine waggles his eyebrows. 

Leon shakes his head, but there’s a laugh hiding behind his smile. “Is that all you ever think about?” 

“Course not! I think about drink too.” 

Merlin grins. “Speaking of meeting girls, where were you off to last night?” 

Gwaine winks. “A gentleman never tells, Merlin.” 

He leaves them behind, laughing quietly. He passes Lancelot, who’s looking for Percival, but Merlin hasn’t seen the tall and burly knight. A passing servant informs them that she saw Percival and Amadis de Gaul having breakfast together in the knight’s quarters. Merlin waves Lancelot off when he asks if Merlin wants to join them for breakfast, so Lancelot quickly goes to find his friend. Merlin probably has a whole list of duties to see to and he doesn’t want to be delayed further, because if Arthur is in his chambers he’ll definitely make a point of mentioning how long it took Merlin to show up and where has he been this morning? Lying about in the tavern again? 

He doesn’t want a spat, no matter how playful, to ruin his good mood. He might have woken up in the forest, hung over and without trousers, but he’s still filled with the warmth of yesterday’s celebrations. He honestly can’t remember a feast ever having been that much fun. Of course, he usually has to serve all night, and usually the only person willing to talk to him is Gwen. But now, there are all of the knights and Merlin hasn’t ever had so many friends before. Five minutes later he’s opening the door to Arthur’s chambers and knows instantly that something is wrong. 

The bed is made. Not just like Arthur pulled the sheets and duvet back up to the pillows. It’s made the exact same way that Merlin made it the previous morning, with the left corner at the foot of the bed rumpled and stubborn when Merlin had tried to right it. There are no remains of breakfast left and Merlin knows, he _knows_ that Arthur would have left the dishes for him to clean up if another servant had fetched him breakfast. The room feels empty; dust motes floating gently in the sunshine and the cold hearth staring at him accusingly. He slowly backs out of the room and closes the door. He suppresses the cold in his chest because Arthur could have spent the night somewhere else, maybe passed out somewhere, like Leon. 

He goes down to the armoury and checks with the pages and squires if they’ve seen Arthur. They shake their heads. He goes to check on Gwen, who’s mending a shirt and looking a bit tired, but she hasn’t seen him either. She says that after Arthur walked her home, he said he was going straight back to his rooms. According to Uther’s steward, Arthur hasn’t been in to see his father. He didn’t stop by Gaius for a dose of hangover cure. He didn’t stop by Geoffrey to gather any documents that needed signing. He hasn’t spoken to any of his council members. None of the servants passing in the hallways have seen him. Arthur is the king, they might not be so familiar with his face in the Lower Town, but he couldn’t make a move in the Citadel without people watching him. 

That’s when he approaches Leon. The older knight listens quietly, a frown on his face and then swiftly, discreetly, arranges a search party to sweep Camelot. Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival and Elyan are the knights people are most comfortable talking to, the ones who are not afraid to be seen going about the Lower Town in the day. They are the ones sent out to quietly ask people they know by name instead of just ‘hey you!’ 

Merlin trails after them, checking taverns and inns. They scope out the ones closest to Gwen first, working their way up to the citadel. It is possible that Arthur got too tired on the way home and stopped to get a room somewhere. But no one has seen him and around supper time the search spreads out across the rest of the city. But no one has seen him. 

_No one has seen him_

Everything had been going so well, of course everything goes wrong the minute Merlin lowers his guard. He really can’t trust the royal prat to stay safe. What was he doing leaving Arthur by himself? What will Arthur do, without Merlin around to save his life? He decides to stop following the knights and strikes out on his own. 

“I’m looking for my friend. He might have rented a room here last night?” 

The inn keeper gives him the stink-eye people seem to like giving him. The kind that reminds him of Uther asking: ‘Does the boy suffer from a mental affliction?’ He simply smiles though; that usually works. “Him and a dozen others.”

Merlin nods. “Right, but, he’s pretty memorable, this friend. Tall, blond hair, blue eyes, acts like an entitled child?” 

The inn keeper shakes his head again. “I got hundreds of people in here last night, buying ale, renting rooms, or just passing out on the floor. I’m sorry, but I can’t say if one of them was your friend or not.” 

Merlin blinks. “Euhm, he was drunk and probably shouting that he was the king of Camelot and you had to obey his every whim.” 

The inn keeper shakes his head again. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your friend at all. Or, I remember hundreds of people who could be your friend.” 

Merlin nods. The inn keeper is right. The problem is that Arthur has learned how to blend in, and most people in the Lower Town have only seen him from a distance. The whole city was drunk and partying last night. No one would have taken notice of him and no one would remember him standing out. If people had seen him and if they did remember him, they wouldn’t know that he was the person Merlin was looking for. He left the inn behind. Camelot was a huge city; how were they ever going to find him? 

He finds Gwaine leaving a tavern a few streets away and quickly catches up with him. “Have you found him?” 

Gwaine shakes his head, but he doesn’t look overly concerned. “Nope, but what are you willing to bet he just showed up at his chambers, wondering when you’re going to bring him his supper? He probably just passed out somewhere, worrying us all over nothing.” 

Merlin shakes his head. “No, he knows I’d worry. Besides, he wouldn’t go so long without telling someone where he is. What if the kingdom needs him?” 

Gwaine nods and murmurs, “I suppose.” But he doesn’t look convinced. 

They search a few more inns, but no one remembers Arthur, or they remember too many people like him. They move away from the city wall and head back into the centre, to the main road, where they run into Leon. He hurries them into a deserted alley, the dying light of the sun highlighting the worried creases and wrinkles in his face. Something in Merlin’s gut clenches, the same something that warns him against magic and danger and anything else that might come alone to try and wrest his destiny from him. 

 

“We’ve searched every inch of Camelot and there is no sign of Arthur. I’ve spoken to everyone who was on guard duty since last night, but he hasn’t been seen leaving the city. If Arthur had left the city off his own free will, he would have told someone, made the necessary preparations.” 

“You think he’s been taken out of the city? Kidnapped?” Merlin’s voice feels heavy on his tongue, like he’s trying to speak through a mouth full of chicken. 

Leon nods. He looks thoughtful and worried. “If Arthur had passed out somewhere last night, he would have woken up and gone to his chambers. Or one of us would have found him. I believe that if he is still in the city, we would have found him by now. Since he hasn’t told anyone that he’s leaving and he wasn’t seen leaving the gates, he must have been taken by force. The guards didn’t notice anything odd, except, very early in the morning, when it was still dark and some people were only just finding their beds, they saw a whole group of people leave Camelot. They were all clad in dark blue clothes, chainmail and swords. They were pulling several carts. They looked like a traders’ company. The guards thought it was odd, because the next group to leave the city only left after midday. But it’s not unusual to see traders leave at dawn to make good time.” 

Gwaine snorts. “That’s all we’ve got?” 

Leon frowns at him, sharp enough to make Gwaine look slightly discomfited. “This is serious. From now on, I’m considering it official that Arthur is missing. This means that the only other person eligible to rule Camelot right now, is Uther.” He lets the implications of that sink in. “I’m going to keep it quiet as long as possible. I’ve sent some of the knights and the guards out to go around the inns, see if anyone matching the description left at that time. If we find the inn, we can search the room they occupied for further clues. I’ve also sent out a few search parties into the woods surrounding Camelot. I doubt they’ll find anything; if they left Camelot before dawn and they had Arthur they will have gone on without stopping.” 

Gwaine sighs. “If they did take Arthur, then it must have been planned in advance. They managed to take him at a time when no one would have been looking for him. With a head start like that, we’ll never gain on them and they’re probably organized and experienced enough to cover their tracks.”

“And if they’re organized,” Leon says, “that means they’re professionals. And that means someone hired them.” 

Merlin frowns. “Morgana.” 

Leon nods but Gwaine shakes his head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. They might not have taken Arthur. They could have been traders leaving early to make good time. They probably stopped for lunch and the search might find them. We’ll be able to rule them out.” 

Leon nods. “Although that might be worse news. If they haven’t taken Arthur then we have no idea where to search for him. It’ll be like he vanished in thin air.” 

“So, what do we do?” Merlin asks. 

“For now, we search every inn to see if they gave a room to the party we’re looking for. The official story is that we suspect they might be druids.” Merlin tries not to let his dismay show at that, but he probably doesn’t succeed because Leon gives him a look like he knows what Merlin is thinking. “For now, Merlin, I think it best if you went back to the citadel and searched Arthur’s room for any clues. I know you think he never made it back from yesterday, but there might still be something there and you’re the only one who will know if something is out of place.” 

Merlin nods. “Right, that’s a good idea. You’ll let me know if you find the inn?” 

Leon claps him on the shoulder. “Of course.” He turns to Gwaine. “We’ll split up and cover more ground that way. You continue down here, towards the east of Camelot. Join the search party there. I’ll head west. Send for me if you find anything.” 

They all go their separate ways. The sun is setting over Camelot, but Merlin can’t appreciate the view walking uphill through the Upper Town. He avoids the grand staircase and goes through the servant’s entrance, through the kitchen. Cook is distributing leftovers between the servants. He ducks out of sight when she turns because he doesn’t know what he’ll say if she asks him whether or not Arthur will be wanting supper sent up to his rooms. He passes silent corridors and when he reaches Arthur’s door he hopes for a brief moment, that when he steps inside there will be a fire burning in the hearth and Arthur will be sitting in his chair, sipping wine while reading over documents. He’ll look up and yell at Merlin for being amazingly late. He might throw his cup. Merlin wouldn’t even mind. 

The room is empty, of course, veiled in shadows. The bed is still exactly the same; the left corner crooked. There are no dirty clothes on the floor. There is no tray with leftovers left on the table. Arthur’s desk is still as messy as ever. There is no fire burning in the hearth and the ashes from the previous night are still there. The room feels empty. Merlin lights a few candles and draws the curtains. He looks through Arthur’s closet, but all his clothes are still there, except for the ones Arthur was wearing at the party. Merlin finds Arthur’s favourite sword in its scabbard, the belt of it looped over the edge of the chair in front of his desk. Arthur was unarmed, except for a dagger in his boot. 

Merlin carefully looks through the papers on Arthur’s desk. Whoever took Arthur might have gone to his room to steal some important documents. That might have been the plan in the first place. But there doesn’t seem to be anything missing. He checks underneath the bed, just in case, because he knows things can be hidden underneath there. There is nothing of course, because Merlin knows, he just _knows_ that Arthur never made it back here last night. He was probably walking back to his rooms, drunk, all by himself, and jumped by god knows how many people because there was no one there to watch his back. 

He sits down on the foot of the bed and slowly drops his head into his hands. Everything had been going so well! There were no suspicious knights competing, nobody had really gotten hurt during the tournament, there had been no magical cheating, nothing. Naturally, the minute Merlin decided that everything was fine, that he could relax and have a few drinks, that’s when they took him, right from underneath Merlin’s nose. The door bangs open and Merlin jumps, but it’s only Gwen standing in the doorway, only Gwen. 

“Merlin! I was hoping....” She looks away, looks over the room and she’s a servant, just like him. She knows what a room is supposed to look like when its occupant is home. She can read the signs just as well as he can. “I heard a rumour, but I thought.” 

Merlin stands. “What kind of rumour?” 

“It wasn’t really a rumour.” She steps further into the room and closes the door behind her. “More like ... a whisper really. Knights are searching the town, looking for druids, but, some people think the prince might be missing.” 

They’d tried to be discreet, of course, looking for people fitting Arthur’s description instead of declaring that they were looking for the prince. But some tavern owners must have realized that they were talking about Arthur and had told others. It was only a matter of time before the rumour spread, gained in strength and that’s when they would demand to see Arthur. The moment the court was forced to admit that the prince was missing and the king was sick, Camelot’s position might be weakened beyond repair. The vultures were circling already and this might be the killing blow. 

Gwen stepped forward. “He’s not really gone, is he? It’s just a rumour.” 

“I’m sorry, Gwen. I should have told you the minute I suspected, but I didn’t want to worry you.” 

She makes a sound between a breathy laugh and a sob and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “So, this afternoon, when you were looking for him, you already thought he was missing?” 

Merlin nods. “Yes, the knights have been looking everywhere. We think he might have been kidnapped.” 

Gwen pales and presses a hand against her mouth. Merlin puts a hand on each shoulder and squeezes softly. “We’ll find him, Gwen, don’t worry.” 

She lowers her hand and nods; taking a deep breath. “Yes, we will.” 

There’s a knock on the door and Merlin quickly lets go to open the door. One of the castle’s many servants is standing on the other side. “Merlin? Sir Leon wants you in Gaius’ chambers right away.” 

“Right, thanks Evan.” 

The boy nods and then quickly leaves again. Merlin turns to Gwen. “Leon’s probably found something.” 

She nods and steps forward. “Let’s go.” 

To Be Continued


	10. Chapter 10

The amulet is a circle made of solid silver. Its edges are decorated with small, tear-shaped jewels changing shades of blue as it catches the light. In the middle a symbol is drawn in black ink, fading and jagged through age and use, but looking closely Merlin can still discern the image of a large animal, with locks of hair around its head, crushing a bird between its paws and biting down on the bird’s head. He hasn’t seen anything like it before. Gaius, however, frowns thoughtfully. 

He peers closer through his magnifying glass. “A lion bearing down on a hawk.” He reaches out to touch the jewels. “It’s a crest, Sir Leon. You found this while searching the room?” 

Leon crowds closer and so do Gwen, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Lancelot. They’re all gathered around the table, trying to get a closer look at the amulet. “Yes. The inn keeper said that the people we were looking for were staying with him. We searched the room and found this underneath one of the beds.” 

“And you suspect that these men took Arthur?” 

The knights all share a look and Leon looks at Merlin, who nods. Leon answers, “Yes.” 

“Then I’m afraid Arthur is in grave danger. This crest belongs to a fraternity of mercenaries. They do not carry names. They are only known by the crest. Members are identified through this amulet.” 

“Mercenaries?” Leon asks. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so. They can be hired at a very steep price for all manner of crimes. Kidnapping a prince would not daunt them.” 

“So we’re looking for a group of men with no names.” Gwaine says, stepping away from the table. 

“I’m afraid so, if this is your only lead.” Gaius says, but his eyes drift to Merlin and he raises his eyebrow meaningfully. 

Leon bows his head. “Merlin, did you find anything in Arthur’s chambers?” Merlin shakes his head and Leon sighs. “If they are mercenaries, they might ask for a ransom.” 

“If the person who hired them doesn’t want Arthur dead,” Gwaine points out. Leon turns and subtly inclines his head in Gwen’s direction. Gwaine flushes and ducks his head. “Sorry.” 

“We should organize a wide search party through the woods, try to find tracks,” Lancelot says. 

Leon nods. “I’ll send out new men and send a messenger to the ones out already. We’ll try to keep it quiet for now though, we don’t want to cause panic.” 

“What if the people ask after him?” Percival presses. 

“Gwen,” Leon says softly, “I’d like to say that Arthur is spending the day with you in the Lower Town. You’ll have to stay in the citadel, in case anyone sees you by yourself. But a story like that would be hard to verify. The Lower Town is large; it’s easy to get lost in. Would you mind?” 

She shook her head. “Of course not.” 

“Good, for now, that’s what we’re saying. Tomorrow, Arthur will be out hunting. After that, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. At the moment we have to concentrate on the search. It’s imperative that we find Arthur as soon as possible. Percival, you and Elyan will take a search party west, Lancelot and Gwaine will go east. Merlin and I will take a party and search the Valley of the Fallen Kings. It’s the most defendable post close to Camelot. They might be bunking down there for the night.” 

There was a knock on the door and Neville, Leon’s squire, poked his head in the room. “Sir, a messenger from the village of Ampthill. He says he has urgent news for the king.” 

Leon made a face that could be roughly translated into _for the love of the gods, what now?_ but he stood straighter and nodded. “I’ll talk to him first, see if his message really pertains to the king.” He turned to the others. “Get ready, we leave in an hour.” 

The knights left, but Merlin stayed behind. “That’s all you know, about the amulet?” 

Gaius checks whether the door is closed. “I didn’t want to say this in front of the others. These mercenaries are known for catching their victims off guard, doing their deeds unseen in the shadows. Some people accuse them of using magic. I don’t know the particulars of their business, of course, but I do know that they use the amulets to keep in touch with each other. Combining the amulet and an incantation will let you track them wherever they go.” 

Merlin looks at the innocent-looking amulet. “An incantation?” 

Gaius nods. “Yes, the amulets are all connected to each other. A simple location spell cast on one of them will lead you to where the others are.”

Merlin smiles. “That’s great! I’ll be able to find Arthur in no time.” 

“Merlin, you must be very careful. Casting the spell might warn the mercenaries that they’re being tracked.”

“Maybe, but magic is forbidden in Camelot. They’d never think that it was someone coming after Arthur.” 

“That may be so, but I suspect that these mercenaries have a few enemies more than Camelot and her knights. Even so, how do you propose to use the incantation in full view of the knights?”

Merlin shrugs. He picks up the amulet from the table and feels the cool weight of it in his hand. “I’ll have to get lost, or strike out on my own, or just perform the spell while out collecting firewood when we make camp.”

Gaius sighs. “Whatever you do, Merlin, you must be careful. These mercenaries will be absolutely ruthless.” 

“Gaius, you know that I can-”

There was another knock on the door and Neville poked his head in again. “Sorry to interrupt, but Sir Leon wants to see Merlin in the great hall’s antechamber right away. He says it’s urgent.” 

“Right,” Merlin says and he pockets the amulet. 

The chamber is under guard and he reaches it at the same time as Lancelot and Percival do. Gwaine is already inside and Elyan arrives not long after. Leon looks harried and it makes that danger! danger! feeling in his stomach clench again. 

“I just had word. Mercia is gathering an army at the border. They’ve crossed the river and they’ve burned several villages, one of which was Ampthill. They haven’t moved further inland yet, but they will. It’s only a matter of time. We have to raise Camelot’s army and meet them before they can sack any more villages.” 

“But Arthur’s missing. Can we even go to war without Arthur? Is there anyone in control off the army?” Gwaine asks. 

“If we go to war first then we’ll lose Arthur’s trail forever,” Lancelot interrupts.

“I know, but if we go after Arthur first, he might not have a kingdom to come back to.” Leon looks pained while he says it. “We must send out a response to Mercia as soon as possible. With Arthur gone, king Uther is the only one with the power to raise Camelot’s army.” 

“And he’s stuck inside his own head.” Gwaine says.

Percival hides his snort of laughter in a cough when Lancelot elbows him in the side. Elyan has his arms crossed in front of his chest. Leon looks at each of them, and leans forward, conspiratorially. “In the absence of both the king and the prince, the decision will fall to the council. I’ve already had them assemble in the great hall. I intend to have messengers sent to the other lords in Camelot for them to contribute the men they promised the king.”

“What about Arthur?” Lancelot urges. 

“We can’t leave Arthur to his fate. If they won’t demand a ransom, he might be moved out of our reach forever. And there is always the possibility that the mercenaries were hired by Mercia, so he would be absent at a battle. But we don’t even know where he is and we don’t have the time to send out a large search party. We’ll need all our strength to defeat Mercia and a small force might not be able to either find the mercenaries or defeat them even if they are found.”

Merlin steps forward. “I will go.” He’s surprisingly relieved that none of them laugh. “I will go. I will find Arthur.” 

Leon frowns. “I can’t send you out there all by yourself, Merlin.” 

“He won’t be by himself,” Gwaine says. “I will go with him.” Merlin wants to say no, but Gwaine grins and laughs. “You don’t really think I’d let you go out there by yourself, do you? It’ll be just like old times.” 

Merlin wants to refuse but convincing Leon to let him strike out on his own will be hard enough. The older man looks hesitant and Merlin makes sure to look him straight in the eye. “I _will_ find Arthur, Leon. I swear I will.” 

Leon has known Merlin for nearly five years now. He has seen a tall, skinny man-boy picking up a sword in the defense of a kingdom; has seen him charge ahead when the odds seemed hopeless. Now, he sees the weight of that blue-eyed gaze and all he can do is nod, because if anyone will find Arthur, it will be Merlin. 

“Very well, you and Gwaine leave after dusk. Don’t let anyone see you and don’t let anyone know what you’re doing and where you’re going. Take two of my horses, I’ll make sure they’ll be ready for you.” 

Merlin smiles, broad and a bit like a fool. “Thank you, Leon.” 

“Just bring him back to us, Merlin. I have a council meeting to get to.” He raises his voice. “Neville!” The boy opens the door. “I need you to draft letters to the lords of Camelot, tell them they need to start gathering their men and be ready to set out at a moment’s notice. We can send them off right after the council meeting. Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, with me. We’ll talk to the council together.” 

Lancelot, Percival, Elyan and Leon leave the antechamber through the door to the great hall for the council meeting. Gwaine and Merlin leave for the corridor. “We’ll have two hours before it’s fully dark. I’ll gather some herbs with Gaius, in case Arthur’s injured.” He also has to practice his spell and figure out what way they’re going before they set out. 

Gwaine nods. “Alright, I have a few things to pack. Some people to see. I’ll see you at the stables in two hours.” He claps Merlin on the back and takes a left. 

Merlin frowns. “That’s not the way to the knight’s quarters!” 

Gwaine turns, keeps walking backwards. There’s a grin on his face. “I know.” 

Merlin is curious, but he doesn’t have time to figure out Gwaine and his lady friend. He rushes through packing some food and a few spare clothes. He studies the amulet and the spell in his book. 

“You know, Merlin, you might not be able to hide your gift from Gwaine if your search for Arthur takes longer than expected.” 

“I know.” Merlin mumbles the words of the spell under his breath, but the amulet doesn’t move. 

Gaius touches his shoulder; just rests his hand there. “Be careful, my boy.” 

“I will be, Gaius.” 

It takes Merlin nearly an hour to figure out that he needs to hold the amulet over a map and say the incantation. The jewels glow a bright blue and a bright blue X marks the map near the edges of the White Mountains. He rolls up the map and leaves his little room and gathers his bags. He has ten minutes until he has to meet Gwaine at the stables. Gaius is packing some jars and bandages in an empty bag. “You should take these with you. We have no idea what kind of injuries Arthur might have.” 

Merlin takes the bag. “Thank you, Gaius. I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Gaius smiles, but it looks old and tired, worn-out. Merlin’s never seen Gaius look this old before. “I know, Merlin. I have every faith in you.” 

Merlin leaves. The door closes behind him and the flickering lights of the candles and the fire vanishes in a corridor of shadows. For a while he’s glad that he’s used to sneaking out of Camelot because it’s easy to avoid the guards and stick to the shadows; easy to find his way in the dark. The stables are a bit more crowded and young men wearing the livery of Camelot are preparing horses and filling up saddlebags. In the middle of the quiet hustle, there is Leon, holding the reins to two ready horses. Gwaine is tying his own bags to the saddle and Merlin quickly steps forward to do the same. 

“A few messengers will be leaving through the Southern Gate, you can slip out along with them and no one will question you. I’ve put a lock down on the city, no one in, no one out, unless they have the necessary papers.” 

The Southern Gate is closest to the White Mountains. Merlin considers it a good sign and accepts the papers Leon gives him with a smile. Quickly, and with no words, both Gwaine and Merlin mount their horses and leave with the stables with a few other messengers. Fifteen minutes later, they pass through the Southern Gate and the messengers all go different ways. Merlin motions for Gwaine to follow him and sets out to the White Mountains. They ride silently, all through the night and Merlin is thankful that he slept so late this morning because otherwise he would be falling asleep in the saddle. They reach the foot of the mountains by the time the sun is climbing over the horizon and a new day is beginning. 

“We should stop here and rest,” Gwaine says. Merlin hesitates and Gwaine shoots him a look. “If we’re well rested, we’ll make better time than if we push on now. And when we do find Arthur, we need to be in good shape to fight whoever took him.” 

Merlin knows Gwaine is right and he remembers having a similar conversation with Arthur when Gwen had been kidnapped. So he follows Gwaine up the slopes of the mountain until they come to a ditch. “I used to camp here every time I came close to Camelot. The ridge here prevents patrols from seeing you, but the path leading up into the mountains is only a few paces that way,” he points. “If you need a quick getaway.” 

They make a small fire and set up camp after managing to compromise on two hours rest. Merlin sinks away into a small doze and Gwaine does the same. When two hours have passed Merlin gets to his feet and rouses Gwaine. 

“It’s time to go.” 

Gwaine nods and stands. He stretches and the bones of his back make a few ominous cracks. “I was wondering, Merlin,” he says while packing up his things. “How do you know where we’re going?” 

There’s something in Gwaine’s voice when he asks, like he _knows_ and Merlin doesn’t hesitate, despite the pounding of his heart. He lays out the map and holds the amulet over it. The spell comes easily now and the blue light makes a mark at the edge of the Valley of the Fallen Kings. It looks like the mercenaries are trying to go around instead of through it. Merlin looks up from the map. 

Gwaine crouches down and studies the map. “We should follow the river here, in the dip between the mountains. If we can go through the mountains and then through the Valley, instead of around, we might be able to cut them off, get ahead of them.” He slaps Merlin on the back. “Better get a move on, hey?” 

He grins and Merlin, helplessly, grins back. 

The End


End file.
